Like a Hawke
by BuriedBeneath
Summary: Hawke was never under any illusions that her life would be easy. And to make matters worse, she found herself falling for an elf with a short temper and a haunted past. -TEMPORARY HIATUS while I work on What Happens in Orlais
1. To the Death:  Part 1

_Author's Note:_

Taking a short break from my Mass Effect fic to write a little something that's been on my mind after my first playthrough of DA II. It exceeded my expectations with how awesome it is, but I felt like putting this scene into writing, basically because this is about as frustrating and difficult as I found this battle in-game, with my rogue Hawke. Although, I have taken a few slight liberties. But then again, a straight re-telling of events we already know would just be boring, right?

Ah, I just love my Daedra. She is my first Hawke, and possibly will remain my favorite. Her laughing sarcasm and Fenris' brooding nature (yet subtle shows of affection) are just too adorable to pass up. I intend to romance Anders on my next playthrough, but I don't know if I can resist that VOICE. Unf.

As always, I welcome reviews, and this was a fairly quick write so there's probably some mistakes. Feel free to offer any constructive criticism. I'm sure I could always use a little improvement. Also, PLEASE let me know if Fenris seems OOC. He's one of the best written characters in the DAII universe, so I want to do him justice.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: Dragon Age II and all of its characters are the property of Bioware and Electronic Arts. I could never hope to own something so awesome._

* * *

**Time Frame:** The end of Act II. The duel with the Arishok.

* * *

**To the Death  
****Part One:** The Duel

_I am an idiot._

The thought crashed through her mind as she dodged yet another swing from the Arishok's massive sword. What possessed her to think she, with her measly two daggers, could possibly take on this beast of a creature that stood at nearly twice her height and seemed to command followers with merely a glance? Despite his size, he still seemed to move with surprising speed, and through this entire, excruciatingly long battle, she found herself only fast enough to get two solid hits into his skin before he rounded on her with a swing strong enough to cleave her head from her shoulders.

She cursed Fenris for getting her into this. But she knew better than that, so she cursed her stupidity, instead. The elf had seemed so... _confident_ in her ability when he made the suggestion to duel. Did he really think so highly of her? Did she think so highly of herself? She could have declined the duel, like any rogue in a right mind would have done, but her blasted _pride_ had prevented her from doing so. She'd thought this massive beast couldn't compare to her speed, and it would be a good battle, but a short one.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

Hawke's energy was failing fast and she'd dodged far more close calls than fate should have allowed. Even that was _before _he'd kicked Alden aside and the mabari collapsed on the edge of the arena in exhaustion and injury. But from what she could see when she managed to spare a quick glance, he was still breathing, and Anders was already moving towards him. Thank the Maker.

The fact that the lumbering Qunari already sported two wounds from her daggers didn't even seem to faze him. Despite her quicker pace and her unwounded state, it was her fatigue that would be the death of her. But she couldn't slow down lest the Qunari destroy her.

And so she fought. She tried her best to budget her strength as she whipped around him, stabbing her daggers in every opening she could find. She managed to duck under his outstretched arm again once he made to attack her once more. She successfully felt her left blade slice into flesh as she came up behind him, cutting her dagger vertically up his back and digging the other into his shoulder beneath his pauldron. Hot blood poured over her hand, and he cried out in a guttural growl. He dropped the enormous axe from his right hand, staggering forward for a moment as Hawke withdrew the dagger from his back, but he slipped away before she could grip her other, leaving her with one blood-slicked blade.

She took the moment to catch her breath, but it lasted only seconds before he leapt at her. He didn't even bother to remove her dagger from his shoulder. His remaining sword came across in a horizontal arc directly for her abdomen, and she threw her arms out before her, using their momentum to push her midsection out of the blade's reach.

Time slowed to a crawl, and it was then that she realized she'd made a horrible mistake.

She'd successfully dodged his sword, but his free hand clamped down on her outstretched forearm with enough force to elicit a cry from her lips. She had enough time to glance upwards into his vengeful glare before he yanked her close. Terror wrapped bony fingers around her heart, choking it, and searing pain ripped into her abdomen and out through her back so strongly that she was sure he'd severed her torso from her legs.

Her vision blurred, and she felt herself being lifted off her feet.

"No..." Someone's voice muttered from the sidelines as her last remaining dagger clattered on ground. A deep intense voice that she should of recognized, but was too ravaged by pain to think clearly enough to do so.

Her own voice was a mess of gurgled coughing and hiccupped screams as the Arishok held her in mid-air. Out of reflex, her hands clasped the sword impaling her and she felt it bite into the skin of her palms as she attempted to reduce the weight distribution on the blade, to no avail. She was entirely at his mercy... if he had any. Which he probably didn't.

Her vision grew dark around the edges and the cacophony surrounding them dimmed to a low white noise as the terror squeezed her heart again and she struggled for breath.

_I don't want to die..._

_Not like this..._

"Daedra!"

_Fenris?_ A detached part of her mind mused as the voice distinguished itself from the noise. The one voice that wasn't family whom she had once allowed to call her by her given name. _It almost feels weird to hear him call me that again..._

The light glinted off of something metal that intruded in the blackening of her vision, tearing her attention away from the voice and she was angry at it for doing so. A beat passed long enough for Hawke's mind to clear and the blackness to give way to her dagger, still embedded in the Qunari's shoulder.

_Wait a second. When did I give up? _She scolded as the dagger brought with it a common sense she seemed to have abandoned earlier, _When have I **ever** given up on **anything**? When did I make the decision to die? By the Maker, if I'm going to die, I'll do it with my damn dignity still intact!_

Time sped up again as she removed one of her hands from the Qunari blade and closed it around her own, ripping it from his shoulder and swinging it upwards, cleaving through something as she did so, and whatever it was landed on the ground with a _thump_. He growled again, distracted, and she felt herself lower a little. But she wasn't finished yet. She took her dagger in both hands and expended all of her remaining strength to thrust it directly into his chest.

He made not a sound as she felt her feet touch solid ground again. His eyes went out of focus, and a cloud of disbelief settled over him. They staggered backwards from each other, the opposite actions pulling his blade free of her abdomen with a jet of blood before it _clanked_ on the marble floor. She collapsed to her knees, her hands pressed tight to her stomach in an attempt to stem the flow of blood, and the Arishok's voice reached her, hampered by laboured breathing as he pulled himself backwards onto the marble stairs. One of his horns was cut to a stump and the remaining half lay at the foot of the stairs beneath him.

"One day... we shall... return..."

And then he breathed his last breath.

_It's over... I'm alive... right?_

Hawke dared not speak. She didn't trust herself to do so without coughing blood. Whether she did so didn't matter, though, because when she tried to rise, blood sputtered forth from her mouth the moment she got one foot planted beneath her. She felt the world tilt. Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground and another hand joined her own to cover her wound. She wasn't sure what good it would do considering she had another just like it in her back.

She looked up to the face of the one who was helping her. Though her vision was blurred, she could make out a shaggy mess of white hair and dark eyebrows drawn into a frown.

"F-Fen...ris..." _Maker, is that my voice? _

"She looks bad..." Someone muttered, but it sounded distant.

"Mage!" The elf yelled.

"I'm here."

Fenris looked up for a brief moment before returning his gaze back to her. She wanted to keep her eyes open. Truly, she did. She wanted to focus on those moss green eyes for the rest of her life – however short it was. But the second she felt the tingle of healing magic flow into her bones, relaxing her, the voices of her companions mottled together, exhaustion overtook her and her vision clouded to darkness.

* * *

Light stabbed into her eyelids when she later regained consciousness, and she kept her eyes pinned shut against the unwelcome intrusion. She wasn't certain how long it took her to finally open her eyes, but she did know that it took longer than necessary, and a great deal of effort. When they finally did open, and she took in her surroundings, she recognized her bedroom in the estate. The room was empty, as far as she could tell, but she dared not move to be sure of it. Her limbs felt like they were three times their normal weight.

She moved her eyes about the room, and it was then that she noticed the quiet, even breathing of another in her midst. Her neck was stiff, but she pulled through the pain enough to look to her left, where she thought the sound was coming from.

There, lounged in an armchair, with his legs stretched out before him and his lyrium-laced arms folded across his chest, was Fenris, his head tilted back in slumber.

Her lips tugged into a weak smile as she looked on his relaxed form, breathing steadily at the side of her bed. The dark scowl that he tended to maintain while in the presence of others was (almost) gone, and she would (almost) describe him as looking peaceful. Almost.

She tried to move, but fire tore through her midsection with the exertion and she hissed quietly through the pain. It was then that she noticed the pressure under her night shift, so she lifted it to see bandages wrapped tightly around her abdomen from her hips to the underside of her bust, a deep red stain in the middle where she'd been impaled on the Arishok's blade. A cold shiver ran down her spine just thinking about the experience, so she pushed the thought from her mind.

Taking another breath, Hawke pushed herself up on her forearms and slid her hips back until she was (more or less) resting against the wall behind her, gritting her teeth and resisting the urge to cry out from the pain and awaken her companion. How long had he been sitting there? Long enough to fall asleep, she guessed. How long had she been unconscious?

Suddenly, the door opened, and in strode Anders with a tray of medical supplies, followed unsurprisingly at the heels by Merrill. When they saw her, they stopped in their tracks, "Hawke, you're awake! And why are you _sitting up_?"

"Shh!" She quieted Anders, and motioned to the sleeping elf at her side with her arm, but it was too late. Fenris stirred, and his head shot up to make eye-contact with her. For the briefest of moments, he looked surprised. Relieved, even. But it was gone as quick as it had appeared.

"You're awake." He said simply, echoing the others.

She let a tiny smirk pull the corner of her mouth as she looked over at him, "So are you."

"It's not surprising that he fell asleep." Merrill said cheerfully as Anders placed the tray of supplies on the table beside the bed. She grabbed a couple of elfroot leaves from the tray along with a few other ingredients and set about making what looked to be an elfroot potion, "He hasn't left your side since he carried you here."

She faced him, "You... _carried_ me all the way down here from the Viscount's Keep?"

Fenris was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, "You were injured. I was the strongest warrior, so I carried you."

"Right." Anders added under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he prepared the various healing poultices and bandages, "That's the _only_ reason, I'm sure."

She didn't comment on that, but decided to have a little fun while she could, facing Fenris again, "Strongest warrior? Are you calling me fat?"

She may well have been mistaken, but the elf's eyes might have widened a fraction, "Not at all, I..." He trailed off then, catching her tone and his eyes then narrowed ever so slightly, "You know better than that."

"Do I now?" She responded, her smile not leaving.

"Pardon me," Anders interrupted, "but you realize we'll have to change your bandages _sometime _today, right? Preferably _sooner_, rather than later?"

"Ah... yes. Right." She muttered, "Help me sit up, then."

The two mages took hold of her upper arms for support and helped her slowly slide to the edge of the bed, clenching her teeth and letting her feet fall to the floor while she sat upright. She pulled her shirt upwards over the bandages and held it in place with her arms to remain unexposed while Merrill knelt before her, that cheerful innocent smile never leaving her face, poultices in hand. Anders sat beside her on the bed, tending to the wound on her back.

"How—" she hissed through the sting of poultices being placed on her injuries, "How long have I been out?"

"Almost four days." The elf in front of her responded, smearing the gelatine-like substance over her abdomen and holding it in place with bandages while the warm tingling of healing magic seeped into the muscles of her back.

"Four days..." She muttered. _And Fenris has been here the whole time?_

Hawke looked back over her shoulder, and saw that his gaze was glued to her back, where the blue glow of Anders' healing magic hovered over the sight of an ugly wound that she couldn't see. The elf's expression was unreadable, as usual, but she did notice the muscles in his jaw flexing.

"The Qunari," she turned back to face Merrill, "are they gone?"

She nodded, "The last ones left the city yesterday, in fact."

"Thanks to Kirkwall's new champion," Anders added, "who drove them out after risking her life to kill the Arishok."

"Champion?" She looked over at him, "Me?"

"You're lucky you killed him when you did," He continued, "Otherwise, you might have died first. You were in pretty rough shape."

Hawke groaned, "Don't remind me. What was going through my head when I decided I was strong enough to take on the bloody Arishok?"

"At least you succeeded." Merrill offered.

"But I almost died in the process." She scoffed, "Me and my stupid pride. The next time I consider taking on an enemy like that by myself, will someone smack some sense into me?"

The sound of the chair behind her scraping across the floor drew her gaze back over her shoulder again, only to see Fenris rising and refusing to meet her eyes, "I... should go."

"Fenris..."

He didn't comment further, and her brow furrowed in confusion as the door shut behind him. She looked at Anders questioningly.

"Don't look at me." He replied, "If you don't know what's going on in his head, there's no hope for the rest of us to know. _Certainly_ not me."

"Maybe... he'll come back later."


	2. To the Death:  Part 2

_Author's Note:_

D'aw, thanks for the reviews/favs/alerts, you guys! You're all so sweet :) I hadn't been getting any emails or PMs to let me know if I was getting any traffic (probably has something do with all the errors popping up around the site lately), so I checked my stats page today, and my mind was positively BLOWN by the response after just one day! HOLY COW. Thank you so much! Maybe it's not much for a veteran of FFdotNET, but for someone who just recently joined, it's a good feeling to know people like my writing already. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. :)

Anywhatsit, as always, feel free to nag me if Fenris seems OOC. That's the main thing here. I always welcome constructive criticism, and take all reviews to heart. I'm sure I could always use a little improvement. ;)

Adieu,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it._

* * *

**To the Death  
****Part Two: **Confrontation

Fenris didn't come back later. In fact, Hawke hadn't seen or heard from him at all since he walked out of her room that day. The others had stopped by numerous times to see her and kept her caught up with the events of the city, but none of them had anything to say about why Fenris had left the day she woke up.

A week had passed by the time Anders allowed her to start walking around, even if he did say she couldn't leave the estate.

Then again, it was no secret that Daedra Hawke tended to follow her own orders, and no one else's. It was why she and Aveline agreed that she would make a terrible city guard. So it should have been no surprise when she dressed in simple leggings and a loose tunic, and used her rogue training to slip past Bodahn and Sandal in the lobby. Alden was the only one who noticed, and followed her out into the porch nudging her back with his muzzle as she was about to head out the door.

Turning back to face him, she knelt and scratched him behind the ears. He grunted quietly.

"Shh, boy." She whispered, "Don't tell the others, okay?"

He whined.

Hawke looked at him wryly, "There's an extra piece of pork in it for you, come dinner time."

His ears immediately perked up, and she grinned, offering him a warning with her eyes, "Don't you bark, or no pork for you. I'll be back soon."

He grunted again, and walked back into the lobby, seating himself in his usual place before the fireplace as she slipped out the front door, closing it silently behind her, "Good boy."

Fenris had developed a nasty habit of _leaving,_ recently, and she intended to do something about that. With everything that had happened between her and the elf, she made it a point to shy away from any mention of those past events. _That night_, in particular. He didn't wish to speak about it, and she didn't wish to dwell on it. It was over. But she made it quite obvious to him that she would not let it ruin the friendship they had worked so hard to develop. She valued his company, and she _certainly _would have enjoyed it while she was bedridden. Hence her compulsive need to confront him now. He'd just walked out without any explanation whatsoever, so truthfully, he should have been expecting this confrontation sooner or later. He knew Hawke well enough to know that she would have _nothing_ left up in the air.

And there was _definitely_ more to his carrying her battered body back to the estate than just he being the strongest warrior. After all, he hadn't denied his feelings for her beforehand. Quite the opposite, actually, and she still harboured feelings for him though she was hurt by his sudden departure in the past (even if she didn't comment on it). But, somehow, she didn't anticipate getting very far on that particular angle of conversation.

_Bloody elf had better be home. I really don't feel like traipsing across all of Kirkwall in my condition just to find him.  
_

* * *

He sat in a chair before the hearth, his elbows balanced on the arms and his hands steepled in front of his face. The book she'd given him, _A Slave's Life_ lay open across his lap, but his attention was on the fire a few feet before him. The flames danced around the logs, flurries of shapes, colors and contours. But all he could see was Daedra Hawke, suspended over a massive Qunari, mercilessly impaled on a longsword. It was one of the only things he'd been able to see for over a week now. When it wasn't that haunting his vision, it was the sight of her in his arms, pale and coughing blood, pitifully gurgling his name.

She probably hated him now. If that was the case, he should've been satisfied. His intention was to make her hate him the first time he'd walked out on her. That way, he wouldn't have to face the fact that being with her made him feel vulnerable. Weak. He wouldn't have to face the memories.

_I work so hard to find out about my past,_ he thought with a sigh, _and when I finally find something-**someone**-that helps me to remember, I throw it away out of fear._

Not to mention it was the first time he'd been truly happy since the time he'd spent with the Fog Warriors in Seheron. That little thought brought back all kinds of things he would rather _not_ remember, and so he pushed it from his mind.

At least, if she hated him, she would not have to deal with his problems. What did he have to offer her? He had nothing, not even a home. The only thing he did have was slavers at his back, and who was he to drag her into that mess? But she didn't hate him. At least, not _then_. He knew that he had hurt her. Guilt and regret hounded him repeatedly over that. But still, she insisted on talking, even if things were different. They were tense for a while, but eventually it became easier to just push the memory of what happened from their minds and focus on the present.

_"I worked like a **dog** to gain your trust and friendship."_ He heard her voice in his head, causing a half-smile to tug the corner of his mouth, _"I'm not about to lose it now."_

"I guess I've been neglecting my promise to teach you to read in the last little while." Her voice reached him again, but it was no longer in his mind. She was here, in the mansion, and his gaze shot up to meet her. Her signature crooked grin dimpled her cheek as she leaned up against the door frame, eyeing him, "Sorry about that. Things have been... more than a little crazy lately."

Blasted rogue. He hadn't even heard her enter.

"You were injured." He responded evenly, closing the book and setting it aside.

"That's no excuse. I was awake, I could still have taught you. At least it would've given me something to do in that bloody room all day." She made to fold her arms across her chest, but he saw her wince with the pressure to her abdomen, so she let them fall to her sides, "Though that would involve you bringing the book to me, in my estate."

"I know where you're going with this, Hawke." He muttered, rising from the armchair and taking a few steps toward her, stopping a reasonable distance away.

She continued, regardless, "Well, you know me and Unresolved Conflict. We aren't the best of friends. Why did you walk out? You stayed by my side for _four days_ while I did nothing but sleep. Then, when I finally wake up, the first thing you do is walk away? Did I do something, say something, wrong?"

"It's... not that, I..." He sighed, turning around and walking towards the hearth, "I have done nothing but blame myself for what happened. If I had not suggested that duel—"

"Is _that_ what's bothering you?" She interrupted.

"When I saw the wound on your back, I could not shake the guilt for being the reason you had it." He faced her again.

She raised an eyebrow, "So it was _you,_ who impaled me on a longsword and lifted me off my feet? Well apparently my memory's been damaged because I could've sworn it was someone much larger, with horns, and... purple."

"I had been waiting four days for you to awaken and cast the blame on me. I was prepared for it. But the first thing you did the moment you opened your eyes, was joke. I couldn't... "

"You were expecting a different reaction from me?" She questioned wryly, "Damn, I thought I'd solidified my reputation."

"Hawke..."

"Fenris." She sobered immediately, "You are not at fault, here. It was my own stupid fault. I should have known better. You suggested the duel, but I could have said no. We could have... worked it out somehow. Hunted Isabela down and took back the book. I knew my limits, but I underestimated him, and I paid for it. Simple as that."

The elf grunted, "If you had turned down the duel, he probably would have let his men attack us all."

She shrugged, "Then why are you blaming yourself? If his men attacked us, we all would have been put at risk. Not to mention the innocent bystanders littered around the room. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing for me to do, but I guess it was the safest."

"Safest for everyone else, you mean."

With another shrug, she let out a disgruntled sigh, "At least that way, only one person had to die."

He looked down at her, his eyes wide with intensity, "That person was almost _you_, Hawke."

"It's not the first time I've agreed to do something stupid, Fenris." She replied, her smile softening a little, "This is just the first time I've really paid for it." She moved past him, nudging him gently with an elbow as she moved further into the room, "It's nice to know you care, though."

It was no secret that Daedra Hawke fell back onto her naturally quick witted humor to avoid tense situations, and this was no different. She always felt a compulsive need to relieve tension by making others laugh. And it came so easily to her. The blasted woman was always so infuriatingly nonchalant. He tried to ignore the fact that it was one of the main things he lo_- liked... _liked about her, as she seated herself on the bench by the fireplace, attempting (and failing) to hide a pained wince as she did so. She was aware that he noticed, and smirked, gingerly running her hand over her abdomen, "What a bastard, eh?"

Fenris was mildly surprised at the unexpected curse, and was happy to note that some of the tension between them faded away.

"We fought hordes of darkspawn in the Deep Roads Expedition." She muttered, "Not one of them ever tried to impale me on a longsword."

When he raised a dark eyebrow up his forehead, the reality of what she'd said must have settled in, because she shook her head, "Okay, yes, but none of them would have ever tried to lift me off my feet by the blade. They would have been satisfied to know I'd been impaled on their longsword."

"Would you expect any different of a Qunari Arishok?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning up against the wall beside the window.

She sighed, "I guess not, but that just proves my point, doesn't it? I should've known better. Expected it. Thereby enforcing that my injury was not your fault, but my own."

_... Damn it. _"You are... a frustrating woman, Hawke."

She started to laugh, but her abdomen protested and she grimaced, "Oh, if I had a copper for every time I heard _that_."

"You wouldn't have to loot it from every dead body we happen to stumble across." He added without missing a beat, a tiny, almost unnoticeable smirk gracing his features.

She laughed outright at that point, her arms clutching her stomach as she shut her eyes tight against the pain, "Of all the times to make me laugh, Fenris!" She calmed and shook her head at him, "You still surprise me sometimes. I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"I do not know whether to consider that a good thing, or a bad thing."

"Well, that makes two of us. I'm supposed to be the funny one."

When the silence dragged on and started to border on uncomfortable, she picked up the book she'd given him from the bench where he'd placed it earlier, "It's been some time since our last lesson."

He said nothing, but stepped closer, watching her quizzically as she handed him the book.

"Now we have to make up for lost time." She gestured to the bench beside her, "Sit. Show me what you've learned since then."

He simply regarded her for a moment, but sat nonetheless, parting the pages where he'd left off, catching one of her rare, gentle, genuinely non-sarcastic smiles out of the corner of his eye as he read the first few words without fail. The smile itself caused him to break concentration, however, and he stumbled through the remainder of the sentence while she offered words of encouragement he would not have needed, had he not noticed that smile. Maker, what this woman could do to him.

Despite all that had happened, his guilt over walking out on her (both recently, and in the past) and the unbridled fear of remembering that kept him from going back, she'd given him a life of freedom that he could not deny. A purpose that he fulfilled not because he was forced to, but because he _wanted _to.

Now, she would quite possibly be the death of him for all of her levity, and stubbornness to remain close to him regardless of how he'd hurt her.

And at this point, he did not know whether to consider that a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Thanks for reading guys! For those of you hoping for Hawke/Fenris fluff, sorry you were disappointed, but in the game Fenris doesn't ask for forgiveness until much later, and I wanted to stick with that. Don't worry though. While my intention was to just make this a two-shot, I am contemplating making it into a full story. Or a series of short stories. Still uncertain about that. I do know that this is not the last you'll see of Daedra and Fenris' tale. I already have another one in mind, but it might not get up for a while yet. Finals are coming up in my university, and I've been pretty slack about getting things done... and it _certainly_ wasn't because of Dragon Age II. Nope. Not at all.

Also, I can't set this particular story as complete until the Type 2 error is cleared up, so here's me telling you this two-shot is now complete. :P

^Scratch that. Turns out _getting things done _is no match for rabid plot-bunnies. Chapters continue as planned.


	3. Final Confrontations: Part 1

_Author's Note:_

Heh. So much for getting things done. I'm sure you've all been in the position where you can't sleep at night because an idea won't leave you alone, right? That's what it's been like over the last few days. I knew you wanted to see the Daedra/Fenris story continue, and this is the next part of the story that came to mind... even though it's not technically Daedra/Fenris-centric. But it's there. I was hoping to get a few others before this one, considering it's the end of the game, but this one wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you don't mind too much, haha.

Enjoy,

-i.I

**Warning: END-GAME SPOILERS AHOY! **If you haven't yet finished the game, and don't want anything spoiled, turn back now before it's too late!

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it. I'm just a little kid playing with borrowed toys._

* * *

**Time Frame:** The end of Act III - The final battle.

* * *

**Final Confrontations  
Part One: **Choice

"The Grand Cleric cannot help you!"

Those words. Those six words were enough to wrench Hawke's gut into a knot until she began to feel sick. Meredith stalked up to him, her brows drawn into a harsh glare, "Explain yourself, mage!"

"I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals," Anders exclaimed, turning to Orsino and slamming the butt of his staff against the ground to silence any interruption from the first enchanter, "while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailors!"

"How dare you—"

"The Circle has failed us, Orsino." The blue light she recognized as Anders giving way to Justice started to emanate from his eyes again, setting her even more on edge than beforehand, "Even you should be able to see that! The time has come to act."

Dread settled onto her shoulders, and she took a step towards the renegade mage, "Anders... What have you done?"

Nothing could have prepared her for the response to her question. The explosion was strong enough that it nearly shook her from her feet, even from Lowtown, and she struggled to stay upright. Her hands rose to cover her mouth, and she could do nothing but watch in horror as the majestic, towering Chantry was reduced to nothing but a pile of dust and rubble in a destructive, brilliant flash of red.

A thick, cold moment of silent disbelief engulfed them all. Orsino, Meredith, all of her companions save for Anders stared wide-eyed at what had once been the place of refuge for all who needed it. The place where some of the most reputable, innocent people in Kirkwall resided.

The others had engaged in a shouting match, but her attention was still on what was left of the Chantry, unable to tear her gaze away.

_This is not real._ She thought in denial, _It's a horrible nightmare, it has to be._

There was no way Anders could go so far to satisfy his means. No way he would sacrifice the lives of innocent people just to bring about a change. She'd always known he was a revolutionary, but to go to such extreme measures, and use the _Chantry_, of all places in Kirkwall! She certainly didn't consider herself a devout follower of the Maker, but even she knew that harming the Chantry, the Grand Cleric, in such a way was a line that you _just didn't cross._

_And I helped him do it._

Then, came the anger. It rolled in at the same time she watched Sebastian drop to his knees in despair over the evident loss of his long-time mentor Grand Cleric Elthina, and set her blood on fire.

"Was that... why you needed me to distract the Grand Cleric?" She drilled the apostate, glaring at him in barely contained rage.

"You... were part of this?" She heard Sebastian's voice, and guilt roiled in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, but if you knew what I was doing, you would have felt honour-bound to stop me." Anders reasoned.

Hawke felt her fingernails digging deep grooves into her palms as her hands fisted at her sides, her arms shaking with the resolve to hold back from strangling the man, "I simply can't _imagine_ why I would ever do that!"

He said something about the injustice of the Circle, but she barely listened. She'd heard it all a thousand times over the last decade, and her patience was wearing thin. She whirled to face him, "You knew from the _beginning_ that I wanted a peaceful solution to all this, but then you had to go and start a bloody war! Nine years_,_ I've known you, Anders! _Nine years_! If this was your plan all along, why didn't you just leave? Rather than stringing me along by the hope that you stood with me in this and then _using_ me to help you!"

"You fool!" Orsino shouted at the apostate, "You've doomed us all!"

More arguing. It seemed like the majority of the last ten years had been spent in argument. She only partially listened until Meredith stepped forward, squared her shoulders, and set her jaw, "As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed, immediately!"

_Damn it. _Her hand raised to her forehead of its own accord and she cursed her luck for forcing her to choose a side. Her resolve to remain a neutral party in this conflict was being thrown into her face. She didn't pick a side earlier, because she didn't _want _to pick a side. Sebastian and Anders both were upset over the Grand Cleric's determination to remain neutral, but Hawke understood the older woman's reasons. Both sides had their benefits, and both had their flaws. She was neither a mage, nor a templar. Who was she to decide which one was right? Why did she always have to make the hard decisions?

From the start, Hawke had seen the benefits of both sides of the conflict, and had felt from the beginning that mages in Kirkwall certainly deserved more freedom. But as she repeatedly saw more and more mages turning to blood magic to accomplish their means, her support for the templars had slowly but steadily grown. Now, she was being forced to pick a side, and with all she'd experienced, everything she'd seen... she _wanted_ to pick the mages' side, if for nothing other than Bethany's sake. But the longer she'd spent in Kirkwall, the more measures she'd taken to help the mages, only to discover that she was inadvertently helping _yet another_ blood mage. It really didn't do much to reinforce her belief. Many of the mages she'd gone out of her way to help had turned out to later become blood mages, anyway, if they weren't beforehand. She'd helped Grace escape the templars, only to have her assistance thrown back into her face when the blood mage had kidnapped Varric, threatening to kill him for no _sodding_ good reason. Then, her mother had been taken from her. By a blood mage. When would it end?

In a way, she'd already had her mind made up after that, but it didn't stop her from wanting to find a compromise. For her father's sake. For Bethany's sake. But when the weight of what Anders had done settled over them, leaving her empty and numb, she knew what she had to do.

It was for this reason that she sided with the templars. She wasn't proud of it, and the _what if_s would hound her for the remainder of her life, but she'd seen too much in the last ten years to remain unaffected by what the mages had done. And after seeing Fenris, being with him and knowing just what he'd gone through. Seeing the pain and quiet anguish that he'd allowed no one else to see... she couldn't risk it. She couldn't risk another Imperium.

When the others had left her to deal with Anders, she just stood there for a moment, trembling in anger as he sat there on the bench, clearly feeling guilty. She would not be fazed by that pitiful expression. She'd become deadened to it after seeing first hand what he had done.

"Stand up," she muttered upon her approach, her jaw clenching in anger, "Look me in the eye."

He obeyed, his honey eyes clouded with sorrow as they met her own.

Before she could control it, her fist had been sent flying directly into the mage's jaw. This wasn't a feminine slap of anger. This was a full-on right hook that bruised her knuckles and sent the man reeling backwards. He stumbled, collecting himself and holding his jaw with one hand.

"I... guess I deserved that."

Her voice was low and menacing, "You deserve _so_ much more than that, you selfish bastard. How do you know Justice didn't put you up to this? That spirit nearly had you kill an innocent mage girl! And now you decide to murder the Grand Cleric, and scores of innocent people who weren't even involved just to _prove a point_? Just a _means to an end_?"

"There's nothing you can say, that I haven't already said to myself."

"Well you're going to hear it anyway! You are a _murderer_, Anders! You've gone _too far_! And not only that, but you tricked me into helping you do it! You had no right to drag me into this, I feel like _shit_!"

He was silent, his brow furrowed in pain. In her nine years of knowing him, she'd never seen him so dejected in her life. But he deserved it, and she frowned, her voice going quiet as a lump formed in her throat, "My father is gone, Anders. Bethany is gone. You were one of my closest friends. My last hope of there being any _good_ mages left in Kirkwall. Despite everything that happened, despite the fact that my _mother_ was taken from me by a blood mage, I was ready to stand by you and help you defend your rights." She whirled around, her voice rising again, and threw her hand out to point at what was left of the Chantry, "But look at what you've done without even needing the help of blood magic!"

He shut his eyes, but she refused to relent, "_Look at me._" She demanded. He did, and she shook her head in disappointment, "You were right when you were arguing with Fenris all those years ago." She muttered, her eyes filling with tears as she met his gaze with her own, her voice cracking in emotion, "It doesn't take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer."

He just stared at her, his face a mask of horror. Hopefully the realization had dawned on him of just what he had become, but she didn't claim to know what was going on in his head. Not anymore. "You'd better go now before the templars find out you're gone." She said numbly, turning her back on him and starting to walk away, her voice void of emotion.

"You're... letting me live?"

"It's not because you don't deserve to die, because you do." She stopped, glancing back over her shoulder to see his bewildered face, "Call me a coward, but it's only because I don't have the heart to kill one of my closest friends."

"I... Hawke, I—"

"Get, the _**fuck**, _out of my sight, before I change my mind!" She shouted, rounding on him, shaking in rage, tears streaming down her face, shooting him a glare so sharp it could have sliced through stone.

She barely heard Sebastian's declaration that he was leaving, vowing that he would track Anders down and teach him what _true justice_ was. She did not stop him. She barely even acknowledged him as he turned and marched out of the city.

All eyes were on her as she stalked off, fuming, pushing past Fenris, who, despite his hatred of the apostate, looked concerned for her. And rightly so; it was not a normal thing for her to explode like that, and she certainly didn't make a habit of using such language on a regular basis, but Anders' betrayal cut her deep. And that's what it was, wasn't it? A betrayal.

She didn't stick around to see if he obeyed her, schooling any emotion from her face, though the effort was soundly belittled by the tears steadily spilling from her eyes.

They had a city to defend.


	4. Final Confrontations: Part 2

_Author's Note:_

As always, thank you to all those who reviewed/alerted/faved. Never ceases to make my day a little brighter. :) Here's the second half (possibly 1/3rd? I'm still undecided if I will add a third part to this). I've taken a few slight liberties with the story-telling here. You may notice them if you've played through siding with the templars. If not, then forget I said anything. ;)

Enjoy,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I had ownership of a world so amazing. Alas, it belongs to BioWare._

* * *

**Final Confrontations  
****Part Two:** Resistance

Just by the look on her face, Fenris could see that killing the mages was one of the hardest things Daedra Hawke had ever had to do. Fenris would catch a glimpse of her every now and again (which was damn near impossible with the speed the rogue moved around the battlefield), and notice that whenever she struck one down, it was like each death caused another little piece of what remained of her innocence to chip away, leaving a hard, numb shell in its place.

He vowed then, to kill as many of these mages as possible. Not out of any desire for revenge as one might think, and indeed, before he'd met her he would have revelled in each kill for precisely that reason. This time, however, it was more for her benefit. Because each one he killed meant one less that she'd need to kill herself. One small chance that he'd see her smile again without the weight of everything she'd done keeping it from reaching her eyes.

The entire journey to the Gallows was spent in near silence, save for the din and shouting of their occasional battle. Even the battle with the pride demon had been fought in a remarkably quiet atmosphere, considering the circumstances.

Following the initial entrance to the Gallows and the ensuing battle, Meredith and the rest of the templars set off to scour the rest of the building, leaving Hawke and the others to finish searching the main floor, promising to meet up again later. Hawke had set her jaw, and was uncharacteristically silent. There were no remarks made, trying to make light of the situation. No sarcasm. She slid her daggers into the scabbards at her back with practiced ease, pressing on without another word as he and the others followed behind her. Meeting eyes with Varric, the dwarf shook his head in sorrow as if he could read his mind. Aveline looked at him then, and the two shared a look of mutual concern for the woman they had all come to know and love (Well... all except the blood mage, who stayed with her simply out of respect. Yet, he could not deny that her ability to dispel magic was... useful, not that he would ever say it out loud).

It was an eerie change in Hawke's demeanour, and Fenris didn't like it in the slightest.

It only seemed to get worse when Anders showed up again inside the Gallows, accusing her of doing the templars' _dirty work_.

"Anders, I don't want to fight you." Her voice was quiet and controlled, though her unrest was evident in the way her shoulders slumped, "I don't have the heart for it."

"And yet you'll slaughter an entire building full of mages?" His face darkened to a scowl, "You have the heart for that?"

"Like you slaughtered an entire building filled with chantry priests and people seeking refuge? People who weren't even _involved._" She retorted, "Don't you _dare_ think of yourself any higher than me."

Fenris felt his hatred for the abomination intensify more than he'd thought possible. Hawke had allowed him a second chance at life – something not many would have done – and now the mage was throwing it back into her face! Did he not see how his betrayal had affected her? How this entire battle was affecting her? Was he oblivious to how numb she had become?

"Do you think this is _easy _for me?" She drilled him, taking a couple steps closer, "My baby sister was an apostate, Anders! She feared the templars and the Circle her entire life! _You _are the one that started this war! I didn't want it to come to this, but I was forced to make a choice, and I made one!"

He was about to say something, but she stopped him, shaking her head, "Enough. I don't want to argue with you. It feels like the last ten years has been nothing but a big bloody argument, and frankly, I'm tired of it."

"I'm sorry." Anders said, forcing himself to calm down, his voice taking on a gentler tone than earlier, but it did nothing to appease Fenris' growing ire, "I'm happy that I met you, but I can't let you do this."

The abomination pulled his staff from his back, and Fenris wasted no time drawing his greatsword. From the corner of his eye, he watched Hawke's shoulders sag in a sigh, and she drew her daggers as more mages surrounded them.

He would kill Anders for making her do this. He certainly didn't mind killing mages, and would have no problem wiping this one from the earth after what he had done. His resolve to do so only strengthened when demons and shades joined the mages in their fight. It was uncertain if Anders had summoned them – chances were, he hadn't – but the fact that he was working _with_ them was enough for Fenris to be sure the abomination had to be stopped.

Hawke disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and then the battle was started. Fenris cut an arc through the shades that swarmed him, gradually cleaving a path to Anders, who hurled a stonefist in Aveline's direction. He was about to warn her, but she caught sight of it at the last second, lifting her shield and cringing when her arm shuddered with the impact before pressing on.

For her part, Merrill mostly concentrated on dealing with the demons and shades, rather than the mages, which was reasonably understandable. That was fine with him – he would rather deal with the mages anyway.

Hawke was difficult to find, hiding in shadow, no doubt manoeuvring the battlefield like the expert he knew she was. Every now and then, he'd see a sudden flash of metal and a mage collapsing to the floor, or hear a shriek from one of the shades he hadn't even been attacking before it sunk down into the ground, defeated, and he _knew _it was her. After fighting together for so long, he could almost picture her movements. She would cloak, and round to the back of a group he or Aveline would draw, attack until the enemy turned on her, daggers fluid and flashing brilliantly, and then backflip out of range, dazing the adversary before shrouding herself in shadow to pursue a new foe distracted by one of the two warriors.

He recalled seeing her fight before in one particularly difficult battle. He was the only warrior with them at the time, and he'd been too immersed in his own fight with the raiders' commander to reach Varric before three of them encircled the dwarf.

"Hang in there, Varric!" He'd heard her shout, while he finally brought his fight with the commander to an end, running him through and withdrawing his blade with a jet of red blood, "Heads up!"

He whirled.

Hawke had ripped her daggers free from a felled raider before taking two smoke grenades from her belt. The first of which, she hurtled directly for the group surrounding the dwarf as she threw the other at her feet, concealing herself. The former had exploded in a gale of smoke, and the raiders stumbled, coughing and sputtering while Varric used the opportunity to retreat to a safer place of attack. Fenris started for the group, intending to assist, but it was not needed. She'd reappeared behind one of the foes, digging her dagger deep into his back and withdrawing it quickly, flipping the blades gracefully in her hand and stabbing them backwards into the man behind her. By that time, the third raider had regained his senses and moved to attack her. She dodged one debilitating attack and was about to defend against a second, but a bolt from the dwarf's crossbow suddenly shot past. The man stumbled to the side before collapsing on the ground in a heap, the bolt embedded deep into his temple.

He swore, she was meant to be a warrior for all of the rather _un_roguish jumping head-long into battle she was wont to do sometimes. Frankly, it had him fearing for her life on more than one occasion. But her speed, grace and agility certainly weren't the characteristics of a warrior, and picturing the small girl with a shield the size of Aveline's, or a sword the size of his own, was an image that just didn't seem to work.

He remembered she'd shot the archer a glare, betrayed by that quirky side-smile that was her signature, "I had it under control."

The dwarf was quick to respond with, "Who said you get to have all the fun?"

He hadn't seen that signature smile at all in the last few hours, and he found himself longing for it. For that simple little assurance that she hadn't lost her levity. That uncanny and unfailing ability to bring light to a situation, no matter how dire.

He had to admit, he was surprised to see the last shade fall through the floor, defeated, as well as all of the mages. He'd been so caught up in his reverie he'd been acting simply on impulse and felt a stab of guilt for not focusing his full concentration on the battle. The only remaining enemy was Anders, who lifted his staff in a brilliant show of lightning. Fenris wasn't waiting for it, and he leapt for the man, only to stop dead in his tracks at the tip of a dagger suddenly protruding from the abomination's chest, blood oozing out and staining the material of his robes. His staff fell from his grip and hit the floor with a resounding _clank_. Blood gurgled forth from the apostate's mouth and he jerked as the blade was pulled out, falling first to his knees and then on his side, stone dead. A painstakingly silent Daedra Hawke was revealed from behind him, frozen in place with her bloodied blade in a two-handed iron grip, still held at level with where Anders' chest had been. Her eyes were focused on none of her companions and she visibly trembled.

Fenris handed Aveline his sword to hold and wasted no time approaching the woman, bringing his hands up, and surrounding her white knuckles, prying her fingers away until the hilt of her dagger fell out of her grip and into his own. Her arms fell limp at her sides as he led her away, allowing her to sit on the stairs for a moment to collect herself while he cleaned their blades in silence.

It was no more than a minute later that she shook her head and let out a sigh, rising to her feet as the elf handed her blade back to her and she slid it into the sheathe at her back, setting her jaw, "Shall we?"

The expression was one of levity, but it was forced, and unaccompanied by the crooked smile he'd spent the better part of the night longing for.

They nodded the affirmative – they really didn't have a lot of time to sit around, they knew – and followed her through the remainder of the gallows and into the antechamber, where they were joined by Meredith and her templars, and greeted by none other than Orsino himself... surrounded by a dozen bloody corpses littered all over the marble floor.

Fenris watched Hawke's face, and he could almost hear the thoughts going through her mind with her expression. Something along the lines of, _You have __**got **__to be kidding me._

He, however, was not so surprised. Evidently, neither was Meredith as she entered and the two engaged in conversation.

Willing sacrifices. Fools. It never failed. When backed into a corner, mages _always_ resorted to the one option available to them that was unavailable to everyone else.

Then, Orsino mentioned a name that made Hawke go completely still. _Quentin._

"Someone the Champion is familiar with." The look on that bastard's face. He said it as if Quentin and Hawke had gone out for a simple drink, or had gotten together for afternoon tea. That blood mage had killed her _mother_. Turned her into a walking jigsaw puzzle held together by magic, who had died in her eldest daughter's arms in a body that was not her own. It was almost as if he was _proud_ of the part he'd played in the murder of innocent women. While he hadn't been the one to kill them, he certainly hadn't done anything to stop their deaths, and had enabled their killer by sending him those _blasted_ books found in the basement of the foundry where they had discovered Hawke's mother.

"Quentin?" It was the first real emotion he'd seen expressed on her face since the beginning of this battle, and it was a look of disgust, "You were working with that murderer?"

"I kept his existence secret because I didn't want to give Meredith more ammunition against us." His angled, elven features twisted in contempt, "I see now I needn't have bothered."

"You son of a bitch!" Hawke shouted, taking a step toward him.

Fenris rose a hand to his sword.

"Are you telling me that if you had turned him in, my mother would still be alive?"

It almost surreal, he had to confess, watching the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi resort to blood magic, but he could not really say he was surprised to see him draw a knife across his wrist. What was a surprise, however, was watching him use the bodies of the fallen mages around him to transform into some kind of twisted monster. He'd seen a lot of things in the Imperium as Danarius's slave. A lot of terrifying results of experiments-gone-wrong (and sometimes _right_) creating something that would be happier just put out its misery. He, himself was the result of one of these terrible experiments, though he couldn't say he would be happier dead. Especially not now, after meeting Daedra Hawke. But he could honestly say that in all his years in Tevinter, he had never seen anything like the disgusting, fleshy, _thing_ that Orsino had become. If blood magic was capable of _that_...

Hawke was the first to move, immediately jumping into action, lunging forward with a shout, and rolling behind the slow-moving monstrosity as the rest of them followed suit.

_Out of all the mages I've killed today,_ Fenris vowed, swinging his sword in a massive arc and cleaving a slice into the huge creature that barely even seemed to faze it, _You are the one I will most enjoy killing._


	5. Aftermath

_Author's Note:_

Thanks to all who faved/reviewed/alerted. You're all awesome, and your comments mean the world to me. :)

I thought, after all the AAAANNNNNNGST of the last installment, I should add a slightly more optimistic one afterwards. This is what I came up with. It _could_ be read as a direct continuation of the last installment, _Final Confrontations_, but it could also be read as a shorter oneshot. It works either way.

Feel free to give me your feedback. Reviews make me a happy panda :)

Now, I should go to bed. It's after midnight, I have a test tomorrow morning and an interview (in French :S) after lunch.  
Wish me luck!

- i.I

**Warning: END-GAME SPOILERS.**

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it. Sadly._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-game, three days after the end of Act III.

* * *

**Aftermath**

The flames in the hearth popped and cracked as the wood gave way to the heat and sent embers fluttering upwards before lazily floating back down into the ashes littering the floor of the fireplace. The events of that fateful night replayed themselves over and over in her mind as she sat in the library of her ancestral estate. Anders' betrayal, the chantry's destruction, the deaths of the two remaining prominent figures in Kirkwall's society. She still could not wipe the sight of all the templars kneeling before her from her mind. She hadn't had any idea what to do.

Thankfully, Seneschal Bran stepped up and took charge of the situation when the citizens gathered on the steps of the Viscount's Keep the following morning. The Seneschal publicly thanked her for her assistance (making her feel horribly conspicuous) and outlined a plan to replace what was lost that night as soon as possible. Plans to rebuild were set in motion, beginning with the Chantry. Ideas had been thrown around to renew the Circle with a new point of view, with Cullen as the new Knight-Commander. Hawke wasn't sure if it would work, but she had to give them credit for trying.

She herself had left early, having not slept that entire night and not wishing to be swamped by Kirkwall's citizens after the meeting was dismissed. Unfortunately, instead of heading back to her estate and into her warm, welcome bed (which was temptingly calling her name, by that time), Varric had somehow managed to drag her and the others to the Hanged Man. It took her and her companions fifteen minutes to get through the crowd and upstairs to his suite where they, thankfully, were not bothered for the rest of her time there.

Though she was sweaty, exhausted, and less than happy with what she'd been doing the whole night, the ale and companionship had somehow managed to make her smile again. Varric had told some outrageously stupid joke, and she'd broken out into howls of laughter that lasted far longer than they should have. Fenris had looked at her with the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and such tenderness in his eyes that she couldn't forget that look if she tried.

Three days had passed since that night.

If one of the embers had happened to land on the armchair she was sitting in and lit it into a blazing inferno, she probably wouldn't have noticed, so focused was she on the memories flitting through her mind with unbelievable clarity. She didn't even hear the door creak open behind her before warm hands slid from her shoulders down to her elbows and a strong jaw hooked over her left shoulder.

His familiar presence immediately made her relax and she eased out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, turning her face to look at him over her shoulder.

They sat like that for a moment, simply basking in the companionship before she finally broke the silence.

"Did I make the right decision?"

"You know my biased outlook prevents me from giving you a proper answer."

"Perhaps." She whispered, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards slightly, "Or maybe I'm just looking for some assurance."

"I am not in the position to give that you."

She huffed out a quiet humourless chuckle, "Can't you lie to me just once, and tell me without any reservations that I did the right thing?"

"I don't need to lie to you to tell you that." He responded, lifting a hand to push a rogue lock of deep red hair out of her face and tuck it delicately behind her ear, "From my point of view, you did the right thing. But you know my past and the bias that it gives me. There are probably many who would disagree."

She chuckled again, "You make a fair point. Perhaps I _should_ place some guards outside my estate. No doubt I'll have a number of enraged citizens beating my door down and threatening to kill me in the near future."

"That's not what I heard from Varric."

"Oh?" Her head tilted to the side and she eyed him suspiciously, "And just what have you heard from Varric?"

"Apparently, they want you to be the new Viscountess."

She nearly choked on her sudden laughter as Fenris stepped forward, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her with that little sideways smile that made her weak in the knees. Then, it clicked, and her laughter suddenly subsided, "You're serious."

She took his silence as confirmation.

"Me? _Viscountess_? No. No, no. Not happening. This city's had enough crazy leaders for one age. They don't need another one."

"I think you should consider it."

She groaned and raked her hands through her hair, "And here I thought the worst was over."

"I can think of no one better to lead this city."

She let out a sardonic chuckle, rising to her feet and beginning to pace in front of the fire, "I'm the farthest thing from Viscountess material, Fenris. I love my daggers too much to sit behind a desk for the rest of my life. I don't know the first thing about being the leader of a city, or being a respectable noble for that matter. I make stupid jokes. I can't go two seconds without being sarcastic. I loot dead bodies and pick the locks on chests for extra coin. I solve disputes with battles of blades, rather than words." She turned to face him, "Besides, do you have any idea how many stupid noble parties I'll be required to attend? I _hate_ formal niceties and social functions. I can't tell a salad fork from a dinner fork. I can't dance. I'm more comfortable in armour than any kind of noble clothing. I have a closet full of dresses that I have never worn, and will never wear, and I can just _imagine _the paperwork, and... Why are you looking at me like that?"

He was staring at her with a bemused smile and a dark eyebrow half-way up his forehead, mirth shining in his eyes, "You are positively adorable when you're flustered."

Hawke rose a hand to her face with a childish whine, "Fenris, you're not _listening_ to me."

He took two quick steps towards her and removed her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it softly, rising his own hand to her face in its place, caressing her cheek, "I am listening. You are a noble, with the heart of a lowly servant. You are strong, and yet you strive for peace, not war. You risked everything you believed in to protect this city. You should not have to wonder why the people want you to lead them."

"I couldn't lead them to lunch."

"And yet we still follow you."

She scoffed, "_You_ do. What about those who've left me, huh? Isabela betrayed me, Anders _used_ me, and when I couldn't kill him, Sebastian left. Let's not forget the juicy detail that I _still_ had to kill Anders in the long run."

_Damn it. That wound's still a little too fresh. _A mixture of anger, pain and sorrow contorted her features then, and she pushed the feelings down before she got too distracted. Fenris pulled her close and she let out a sigh, resting her head against his chest, and finding solace in the beat of his heart. They stood there in silence for a moment.

Finally, she pulled away enough to bring her hands up and around the back of his neck, losing themselves in his unkempt white hair. His moss-green eyes met her own and she furrowed her brow, "If I do this – and I'm _not_ saying I will – they'll expect me to get married. I don't know if... You and I—"

"Daedra," He interrupted, "from the moment I first met you, you have never cared what _anyone_ expected of you. Nobles least of all. Why start now?"

She allowed a smile to cross her face at that, looking up at him again, marvelling at how she could be so lucky, "You know what? You're right. If they want me to take that throne _so badly_, I'll be doing it on my terms. I'll be _damned_ if I give up the one person left in my life, the man I love, to marry some nobleman I don't even know, who has perfect posture for the simple reason that he has a stick shoved up his ass."

Fenris' chest rumbled with a laugh as she pulled his head forward and met his lips with her own in a slow, tender kiss.

"I suppose it's a good thing that I slump, then." He muttered as he pulled away, tilting his forehead down to meet hers as she erupted into laughter.

He was quiet for a moment as their laughter abated, his dark eyebrows furrowing, "Do you really have a closet full of dresses?"

"My mother's idea." She explained, her smile faltering for a moment before picking up again, "She kept buying them for me in the hopes that I might, eventually, wear one... Why? Would you like to try one on? Because you're sure as hell never going to see me in one."

"Not that I'm sure you wouldn't look stunning in a dress." He responded, that crooked smile tugging the corner of his mouth, "I just don't think I would survive the shock long enough to truly appreciate it."

They shared another laugh as he pulled her back to him.

"I'll... think about it." She whispered as she calmed, listening to the beat of his heart again with her head on his chest, "Being Viscountess, I mean. But you realize that if I agree to this, you'll have to go to all of these stupid formal noble parties with me, right?"

He grunted his obvious distaste with the subject, "Couldn't we just say that all of our invitations were lost in the mail?"

"I think that might get old after a while."

"Indeed. We'll have to come up with a few more convincing excuses."

"You'll also have to deal with me coming home tearing my hair out over all the paperwork I had to do, or livid at the stupidity of nobles, or restless after sitting behind a desk all day."

"I can think of a few... _solutions_ to each of those problems." His voice had dropped to that lower, husky register, and it rumbled through his chest, making her knees go wobbly and weak.

"Mmm, you keep making this _Viscountess _thing sound better and better."


	6. Jealousy

_Author's Note:_

As always, thanks to all for reading/faving/reviewing, etc. You're all too awesome.

This one's fairly short.

I was rather unhappy with Hawke's responses when Anders questions her about her relationship with Fenris. Personally, I wanted to smack his jealous face off. So, this is how I picture my Hawke responding to him. She can get a little heated when someone sticks their nose in her personal life.

Also, FYI: I don't _hate_ Anders. He's been at 100% friendship in every one of my playthroughs. He just has a nasty habit of pissing me off... and he doesn't have a sexy voice to redeem himself. :P

As usual, took a few very slight liberties. Nothing major.

Adieu,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it. I'm just playing with borrowed toys._

P.S. For those of you who may have been wondering, I feel really good about my French interview. I think I did really well. :)

* * *

**Time Frame:** Act III, Anders' personal quest _Justice._

* * *

**Jealousy**

Out of all the things Hawke had expected to do that day, trudging through the dank, putrid dark of Kirkwall's sewers looking for some disgusting form of crystallized excrement was certainly _not _one of them.

Anders had his eyes peeled for... _whatever _it was he was looking for, while Varric and Fenris trailed behind them. Maybe it was just her, but she swore, she could almost sense the distaste radiating from Fenris, and Varric had no problem voicing it. Perhaps only coming down here with Anders would have been sufficient, but she had her doubts Fenris would allow Anders to go anywhere alone with Hawke, even if it _was_ the sewer, and frankly, with the two of them butting heads all the time, she _needed _Varric with her if for nothing other than someone to talk to while the mage and warrior were at each other's throats.

She had not gone down there thinking that it would be _she_, who let her anger get the better of her.

Even dealing with the unexpected (though after this long in Kirkwall, it perhaps should have been expected) appearance of bandits who had made the unfortunate mistake of launching an unprovoked attack was not the worst of it. At least then she got to loot their bodies for anything useful.

Perhaps she should have seen it coming. Anders _had _been in disagreement more with Fenris of late, and had also grown increasingly friendly towards her, despite her pointedly refusing to lead him on. He was well aware of how she thought of him, and of her relationship with Fenris (however strained it once had been). Anders was her friend. Nothing more.

Either way, he should have at least been a little more careful of when he chose to bring such things up. The apostate had simply horrendous timing.

So, while the two of them lead at the head of the group, and Anders glanced over at her with that _look_ on his face as if he was having some sort of internal struggle, she knew something was up.

"I know it isn't my place to criticize," He began as they walked, "but are you sure about Fenris?"

She stared at him, deadpan, "Anders, you do realize we are in a _sewer_, and he is less than five feet behind us, right? And you think _now_ is the best time to bring this up?"

It didn't seem to dissuade him, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes to the ceiling when he continued, "It's just that, he seems less a man to me than a wild dog."

Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her hands fisted at her sides, "Don't call him that. You don't know a damn thing about him."

"I know as much as I'm ever likely to."

"Why, Anders." She responded, folding her arms across her chest, and she glared at him, "Haven't I ever told you that _green_ is _not_ your color?"

"I'm not jealous!" He denied, but Hawke was certainly not buying it, "I'm simply concerned."

"You haven't a damn thing to be concerned about!"

"He has let one bad experience color his whole world."

Her eyebrow rose at that, and she huffed out a mirthless chuckle. _So Anders truly doesn't know a thing about him, does he? _

"Surely, you want someone more open-minded."

"Like who? _You?" _She faced him, seeing red, and while she wanted _so badly_ to _slap_ him for his hypocrisy, she took a breath and forced her gaze onto the road before her, schooling her voice into a controlled monotone, "You have no clue what I want. What I want is someone who doesn't criticize every bloody decision I make, and then get angry at me for disagreeing with something they choose to do. What I _want_ is someone who doesn't expect things from me. What I _want_ is someone who doesn't pressure me into choosing a side in this Maker-damned conflict. What I _want_ is for jealous apostate mages to remove their noses from where they don't belong and to _get over _the fact that things are not going to change. Maker, Anders. You're a great friend, but sometimes I just want to _smack _you."

She was fully aware that her voice had rose loud enough for her other companions to hear, and she _knew _Varric was just itching to find a piece of parchment and a quill to start writing these things down. While she didn't look back, she could sense that Fenris was utterly fuming at this unwelcome intrusion into their personal lives, and indulged herself in a little rush of pride that she had seemed to silence the apostate for once. She relished the rare moment.

"I'm a big girl. I'm capable of making my own decisions." She spat, "So yes, you can think what you want, Anders. But _just once, _could you keep it to yourself? This is one topic I'd rather _not_ have your feedback on."

Hawke slunk back from the leading position to match pace with Fenris and Varric, and she couldn't help but notice the daggers that the elf was glaring into the mage's back. Thankfully, Anders didn't say anything, and kept walking, silently searching for the mineral they had all come down here for in the first place.

"A mage _and_ a hypocrite." Her lover muttered to her, green eyes narrowed on the silent apostate, making no attempt to shroud the disdain from his voice, "What company you keep."

For once, she was inclined to agree.


	7. Ambushed: Part 1

_Author's Note:_

Thanks to all of my watchers/fav...ers?/reviewers/lurkers, etc. You're all too awesome, and your encouragement means the world to me. :)

Also, special thanks to **Deshwitat'slover** for pointing out my mistake in _To the Death: Part 1. _I knew the duel was in the Keep when I wrote the story, but I guess I just had a brain-fart (hehe... brain-fart) in the second half when I wrote that it was in the compound. I never would have noticed my oversight if you hadn't pointed it out. ;) So, thanks!

Finally, uh... sorry for this, guys. I had other things in mind, but this evil little plot-bunny ran away with me, and this one kinda wrote itself... I apologize in advance...

*hides*

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it. Yep._

* * *

**Time Frame: **Act II, after Fenris' "hasty departure"

* * *

**Ambushed  
**** Part One:** Fear

The rain beat down on the hood of her cloak as they trudged through the muddy Elven compound at the foot of Sundermount. Merrill trailed behind them, utterly silent. She was... _less than happy_ with the way things had turned out, and Hawke didn't give a fig about it. She'd had a bad feeling about this mirror from the beginning, and when the Keeper urged her not to give the artifact to the young elven girl, she found she could not forsake the older woman's experience. She couldn't fathom why Merrill wanted to fix the mirror in the first place, after knowing what it did to her old clanmate. Some things were better just left alone.

The rain certainly didn't help to ease the tension. In conjunction with their exhaustion and various states of mild injury after dealing with the Varterral, no one was inherently happy with the situation. Isabela was muttering quietly to herself, nursing a set of bruised ribs. Fenris hated the rain, judging by the way his scowl seemed even darker than usual. There was a nasty gash over his left eyebrow causing pale red streaks to mar the otherwise colorless hair matted to his forehead, and an even worst cut along his bicep, slicing through the intricate patterns of lyrium. And Merrill? Well, she just simply _wasn't _in the mood. That small little elf girl was surprisingly vicious when she was angry. Hawke couldn't wait to return to her estate where she could strip off her sopping leathers and soak in a warm bath to relax her fatigued muscles and the ache in the throbbing ankle that she'd twisted thanks to a failed evasion of the huge spider-like creature.

Perhaps she should have opted to bring Anders with them, but having him bicker incessantly with the blood mage just wasn't something that sounded all too appealing at the time. As for her choice of warriors? She would have taken Aveline if she could, but the woman was up to her ears in paperwork when Hawke had entered her office. She didn't even look up at her over the stacks of paper piled on her desk. Hawke noticed the stressed creases along her brow, and the Guard-Captain had simply waved her off before she could say anything, so she made a mental note to drag the woman to the Hanged Man when they returned.

Thankfully, Fenris had remained surprisingly quiet for most of the trip, despite his opinion of Merrill.

When the bandits ambushed them just outside of the Dalish camp, Hawke made no effort to suppress her agitated groan. There were eight of them. She was tired, and fighting with a very twisted, very sore ankle was not her idea of fun. The others seemed to share her enthusiasm (or lack thereof) but Fenris tore into their foes regardless, as she and Isabela rounded behind the attackers and took advantage of their preoccupation with the warrior elf. Isabela took the lead when it came to diverting and directing attention away from Merrill and towards Fenris, who cleaved massive arcs through the crowd of bandits with practiced ease. Hawke spent most of the battle shrouded in shadow stabbing her daggers into those least expecting it, occasionally stepping out into the open to take down an enemy getting a little too close to Fenris, preventing him from adequately swinging his massive sword to its full length.

Their enemies were dwindling, despite their respective injuries, and Hawke took a moment to survey the surroundings. She counted three remaining foes – two rogues and a warrior, and she was just about to retrieve a smoke grenade from her belt to conceal herself when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she sensed someone behind her. She ducked down and to her left, watching a the blade of a menacingly sharp dagger stab the air just over her shoulder, near enough to sever a few wild strands of deep red hair that had fallen free from the loose ponytail at the base of her neck.

_Too close! Way too close!_

Flipping her own daggers in her hands, she made to stab them backwards into the body behind her, but before she had a chance, a boot connected with the back of her knee, kicking it out, and she faltered. Spectacularly. Her boots lost their grip in the mud, and she lost her footing, feeling fire rip through her injured ankle as she slipped and caught herself on her hands, "Ow! _Shit_!"

Hawke didn't have time to say more than that. She rolled out of range of the rogue's blades, and scrambled back to her feet, gritting her teeth through the entirely renewed throbbing of her ankle and adjusting her grip on her weapons, now made slippery by their contact with the muddy ground.

They stood a meter apart, rounding each other without removing their eyes. Her opponent was a woman. Dark eyes and blonde hair. _Oh, you picked the _**_wrong _**_day. _Hawke muttered internally, and retrieved the smoke bomb she'd been trying to grab from her belt before she was so _rudely _interrupted. A menacing scowl twisted the other rogue's features as she suddenly leapt at Hawke, but she twisted into a dodge, pivoting on her good foot and smashed the smoke bomb at the woman's feet as she passed. She erupted into a fit of coughing, and Hawke wasted no time slipping her blade into the gap in the armour beneath the woman's arm and stabbed her other dagger through the leather and into her back. The rogue went stiff for a moment, before crumpling to the ground.

Blowing out her cheeks with a sigh, Hawke whirled and felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at seeing the last of the enemies fall to the ground. Fenris hauled his blade out of the gut of the warrior, and Isabela was making quick work of the rogue, which gave Hawke the idea that perhaps she could learn a few things from the pirate, watching how the woman manoeuvred the battlefield and swung her daggers in a graceful dance.

_Wait a minute. _She stopped, taking a quick stock of the bodies littered about the ground as Fenris lowered his weapon. _Six bodies. Isabela's finishing one rogue off. I counted two rogues aside from the one attacking me. **Shit**, where's the other one?_

Time slowed to a crawl, and she whirled, her eyes peeled wide for anything that might alert her to the rogue's presence if he was concealed in shadow. She studied her companions. Merrill and Isabela were both out in the open – no real shadows to speak of.

But Fenris...

_Oh no_.

He was standing near an alcove of trees that cast a wide shadow over him. She felt her heart double its pace within her chest, and her feet started to move, "Fenris! Get out of th–"

She was too late.

The tips of two daggers stabbed out through the leathers in the front of his chest above and below his breastplate, creating two blotches of red that spread outwards from the blades before they were violently ripped from his body. The elf sunk to his knees, his eyes wide in disbelief, the hilt of his sword slipping from his fingers.

Her heart stopped beating for a split-second that felt like hours.

Then, she was running, anger furrowing her brow, and terror lancing through every nerve in her body.

"_**No!**_" She ripped a small shiv from her belt and whipped it at the bandit with deadly precision. It hurtled through the air and embedded itself into the man's skull with a dull _thunk_ and with such force that his head snapped backwards before he fell on his back in the mud.

Seconds later, she was at the elf's side, her knees slipping in the mud, and he was falling into her arms, open wide to catch him before he could hit the ground, "Fenris!"

She pressed one of her hands to one of the wounds, fishing in her pack for a healing potion with the other, "Merrill, go to your clan and get help! Now!"

The young elf obeyed without question and took off in the direction of the compound.

She uncorked the potion with her teeth and tilted his head up, helping him swallow as she poured the liquid into his mouth. She was hoping for a miracle, but she was not surprised to discover that the potion did little to help. It sealed the gash on his forehead, and the redness around the cut on his bicep faded, but it did not stem the flow of blood seeping through her fingers in the face of such an injury, "Fenris! Fenris, stay with me!"

The pirate's hands joined her own in the effort to apply pressure to his wounds.

He looked nowhere but into her eyes. Somehow, amidst all the pain he must have been feeling, amidst all of the grunts of effort and gurgles of blood rushing into his airway, he still managed to raise an armoured hand up, and the tips of two clawed fingers brushed lightly, gently, against her cheek. Tears suddenly blurred her vision.

With that one simple gesture, every memory the two had shared together came rushing to the surface with incredible clarity. His early (and rather poor) attempts at flattery, and dry responses to all of her joking, sarcastic remarks. The fine Antivan wine the two had shared, and that one bottle that was decorating the wall of his mansion. That _one touch_ that had started it all as she told him he didn't need to leave. The rush of heat that fluttered in her belly as he pushed her against the wall, and then looked at her with such sorrow in his green eyes when he realized what he had done, and then... well.

A choked sob forced its way out as she took his hand in one of her own while keeping pressure on one of the wounds with her free hand.

"Help is coming, Fenris." She muttered, "We're going to get you to a healer, you hear me? You'll get through this, you just have to stay with me!"

His eyelids began to close and his grip loosened slightly. Fearful, she shook his hand to retain his attention, "Fenris! Look at me! You have to stay awake, okay? Stay awake!"

They fluttered open again, briefly, before drifting closed a second time, and utter terror tore through her heart.

_Oh, sweet Maker, no!_

* * *

_Author's Note:_

I know! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!

I thought, giving Hawke's reaction to Fenris getting seriously injured would be a nice way to contrast their behaviours and personalities. As I was writing this one (well actually, it kinda wrote itself...) I really got a sense of the difference between the two. Fenris reacting in that concerned, quiet intensity when she was injured in _To the Death: Part 1, _as opposed to her much different reaction in this short.

On the plus side, this is only part one. Let's hope my plot-bunny decides to give them a (relatively) happy ending, shall we?

**P.S.** In the future, I shall endeavour to come up with a few more positive shorts. It's not my fault, I swear! The bunnies! They have minds of their own!


	8. Ambushed: Part 2

_Author's Note:_

Thanks to all my watchers/fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers. You're all amazing, and I love y'all.

Also, just a quick FYI, I was listening to _Leliana's Song_ from the Dragon Age: Origins soundtrack while writing this, as well as _I Am the One_. If you have either/both, I'd suggest listening to it/them while reading. It really helps reinforce the atmosphere here.

Adieu,  
-i.I

_Disclaimer: Oh, if only I had the genius to match that of the great BioWare. Alas._

**P.S. **Had my first final today. One down, two to go. :)

* * *

** Ambushed  
****Part Two:** Anxiety

The orange light of dusk washed gently over the Dalish camp. The rain had long since stopped. Hawke looked like an exhausted mess. It probably didn't help that she was still in her damp leathers, caked with mud and covered in blood that was not her own. The elves had offered them shelter through the rain, but even when it was still pouring, Hawke refused to take it unless it was just outside the tent where the healers and herbalists were struggling to save Fenris' life.

Merrill had returned with several others from her clan mere moments after he lost consciousness and they rushed him back to the camp and into what she guessed was a medical tent, with elves bustling about like a swarm of bees. Hawke hadn't moved from her spot outside the tent, alternating between standing and sitting when her position grew tiring. Her injured ankle was forgotten. Her minor cuts and bruises were forgotten. The one thing on her mind was that Fenris come out of this alive.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the sky was beginning to darken, so it had to have been at least a couple of hours. Still, no news from inside the tent. She bit her bottom lip and nervously rubbed her hands over her arms.

Despite their misgivings about humans, the Dalish camp had temporarily offered their hospitality (albeit begrudgingly). They even offered them some of the food the hunters had brought back when the day rolled into evening, though Hawke had politely declined. Merrill had shown Isabela to a nearby brook in which she could bathe, and offered the same courtesy to Hawke, but again, she refused.

Other than, "No, thank you," she hadn't uttered a word to anyone since she arrived.

She was fine, of course. Completely fine. She wasn't intensely worried that she might never look into Fenris' beautiful green eyes again. Or be on the receiving end of his little smile, his tender gaze. She wasn't utterly petrified that she might no longer be able to listen to his deep, intense voice and his dry responses to her stupid jokes. She wasn't entirely panicked that she might never again hear that brief, sharp laugh of his that was such a precious rarity to begin with (the only time she had ever really heard him laugh like that was when he was drunk). She was in no way painstakingly horrified that she might lose the one member of their little band of misfits that truly made her feel safe. Protected. The one person that never really expected anything from her, or pressured her into doing something, or to pick a side. Sure, he was vocal about his opinions - as many of them were - regarding mages and the treatment of such, but beyond that, it still remained her choice.

She wasn't completely terrified that, despite it all, despite everything that had happened between them and the fact that they were no longer technically together, she might never get the chance to tell him that she lo-

"Hawke."

Isabela's voice halted her thoughts, but she didn't acknowledge the pirate, though she knew she was there.

"You've been standing here for hours." The woman continued, "You really should go bathe in the stream. You're beginning to stink something fierce."

Still silence. Isabela hesitated a moment before she started talking again.

"He's in good hands, Hawke. Merrill says Keeper Marethari is one of the most gifted healers among the Dalish clans."

Another beat passed. Hawke still didn't say anything.

"You can't stand out here all night." The pirate reasoned, "Go bathe. I'll even clean your weapons and armour for you while you're gone."

Well... she _did _need a bath. She could smell the dried blood and sweat radiating from her body, and her hair felt disgustingly matted to her head. She felt like a little child who had been rolling around in a puddle of mud and then gone running naked through the sewers of Kirkwall.

A distant, disconnected part of her wanted to giggle like a five-year-old at that image, but she shoved it down.

"Will you let me know if anything changes?" Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

Isabela had been in the middle of walking away when she spoke, but she heard the pirate take a couple of steps back towards her, "I promise, if anything changes, you'll be the first to know."

She stood there for a moment, still debating whether she would actually take the woman up on her offer before she finally concluded that the waiting was going to kill her and if Fenris actually did recover, she didn't want him to wake up to her smelling like sweaty wet leather, and covered in his blood. That might not be the most welcoming sight to wake up to.

So, she turned on her heel, reluctantly tearing her gaze away from the tent where she knew he was, and nodded to Isabela, "Show me to the stream."

A roguish grin crept across the Rivaini's face, "With pleasure."

"And leave me there _alone, _if you please." She muttered, looking pointedly at the woman.

"You never let me have any fun."

Hawke _almost_ smiled at that, as she stooped to pick up her pack. Thankfully, she always came prepared with a change of clothing tucked away within it, for just such an occasion as this (minus the whole_ Fenris-nearly-dying-in-her-arms_ thing. She couldn't have been prepared for _that_ in a million years). Isabela led her out of the camp and through the trees, and before long, she started to hear the gentle trickle of water, and they stopped along the bank of a slow-moving brook that was winding down from the mountain. Crickets were starting to chirp, creating a melancholy melody that went hand-in-hand with her anxiety.

She dropped her pack at her feet and stripped down to the padding she wore under her armour, which Isabela took to clean, along with her weapons (and leaving Hawke with one of her own, just in case).

"Good thing it's a warm evening." The pirate said as Hawke approached the water and stooped to dip a hand in, "It's not exactly a hot spring."

"It's fine." Hawke responded, "Didn't really want to feel my ankle, anyway."

She let out a quiet, almost-laugh, "We'll let you know if we get any news, alright?"

"Understood." She heard the woman's retreating footsteps again, but called out to her before she got too far away, "And Isabela?"

The Rivaini stopped, "Hmm?"

Hawke looked back to face the woman over her shoulder, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." A smile crossed over the woman's face and there was a moment of kindness in her eyes before it was washed away by mirth, "I mean, really. Don't mention it. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

And then, she was alone. She peeled off her padding and underclothes and crept slowly into the water until it reached her knees. She just stood there for a time, watching the water flow past her legs and towards an unknown beyond. At which point, she collapsed, sitting in the water, uncaring of the biting cold and the gooseflesh that crept over her skin. She pulled one knee to her chest and used it to balance her elbow as she held her forehead in her hand, letting out a shaky breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

She lifted her free hand. Tiny droplets of water dripped from the tips of her fingers to land with tiny ripples in the stream. Fenris' blood made dark reddish swirls in the brook, barely visible in the waning daylight, before being briskly washed away.

"How did this happen?" She asked herself aloud. Blame had been creeping up on her, and while the part of her mind that was constantly searching for some form of logic was telling her that there was nothing she could have done (she couldn't stop time, of course, despite whatever stories Varric was spinning about her), she couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty. And yet, she couldn't explain why. She wasn't the one who stabbed him in the back, and it wasn't like Fenris had the keen developed senses of a rogue, – despite all his years on the run, staying under the noses of slavers, he was still a warrior without any formal rogue training – he couldn't exactly see the guy coming.

_If I had just been a few seconds faster..._

_But you weren't, Daedra. It's done. No sense dwelling on the **what if**s when he's still struggling for life. The best you can do is just wait._

She could only hope that the stubborn determination she had come to both love and hate about him would serve to bring him back to her. Or, well, to _life_ anyway. Anything beyond that was... uncertain.

_Maker, I would be so lost without him._

He kept her honest when she had both the Circle and the templars breathing down her neck. He was a valued voice of opposition every time she considered helping a mage plucking on her heartstrings (even if he wasn't always successful), and honestly, she would he ripping her hair out if he wasn't there to assist her in understanding the Qunari (she'd be _damned_ if she ever left him behind during a visit to the Arishok). He kept her sane. He didn't awkwardly talk her ear off after her mother died (though, the thought of Fenris talking _anyone's_ ear off was something she could never fathom in a million years) like others were wont to do. In fact, she'd exploded at him, and he just stood there and _took it _until she'd broken down completely. He knew exactly what she had needed. He knew her better than anyone. Well, except _maybe_ Aveline, with whom she shared a bond of mutual friendship that outlasted everyone else's.

Realizing that she'd spent the last several minutes sitting in the water rather than actually _bathing_, she shook her head, running her hands through her hair and stood. She waded further out into the stream until it reached her waist, dunked her head beneath the water and set about what she initially came out here to do.

Some time later, after dressing and making an attempt to rinse at least _some _of the blood from her previous clothing, she had barely taken two steps back into the camp when she nearly walked head-long into Merrill, who was running without looking where she was going, and Hawke had to place two hands on the elf's shoulders to steady her. She turned those big (deceptively) innocent green eyes up to meet her own, "Oh, Hawke!"

Hawke felt her anxiety twist her stomach into a knot as she stared at the blood mage, "What is it? Is he..."

"He's alright!"

If there had been another time in her life that she had felt such an incredible wave of relief, she had no memory of it. The archdemon could have been miraculously revived and amassing the biggest force of darkspawn in the history of Thedas, and she would have barrelled through the gates of the Black City itself if it meant seeing Fenris alive and breathing.

She whispered a quiet _thank the Maker_ as her shoulders sank with a heavy sigh of relief.

"He's not yet conscious, but the Keeper says you can see him."

She didn't think to thank the girl (or anyone, for that matter) as she rounded the mage and took off running for the medical tent, ducking under the tent flap with her eyes wide.

He was on his back, unmoving save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, which would have been bare if not for the thick layer of bandages wrapped around it. She eased out the breath she was holding and approached. Reached out her hand. Hesitated momentarily, but reconsidered with a smile tugging the corner of her mouth and placed her palm against his cheek briefly before settling it on top of his hand. She would exercise restraint when he was awake. She'd almost _lost _him, by the Maker. Boundaries be _damned_ while he was unconscious.

A mirthless chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head, "I don't care if it takes us _years_, I'm teaching you how to sense others sneaking up on you."

_I can't handle this a second time._

Hawke had no idea how many hours had passed by the time sleep claimed her. Somehow, she'd ended up on her knees, leaning forward onto his cot with her head resting atop her arms, clasping his hand in one of her own.

It was when she felt a reciprocated squeeze on that hand that her dreams receded like a bolt of lightning and her head shot upwards (causing a terrible pain in her neck from her awkward choice of sleeping positions, but that was the last thing on her mind at the moment). She looked towards him, blinking her bleary eyes to see that his own were open and he was looking at her with that little half-smile that, just a few hours prior, she'd been so fearful she'd never see again.

She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, disbelieving for a moment, until she heard his voice, rough and scratchy, mutter her name quietly, "Hawke."

A million thoughts were going through her head in the space of a few seconds. Things she wanted to say. Things she _couldn't _say. She'd even prepared a joking remark to say for when he awoke, but the moment he looked at her, awake, _alive_, everything she'd thought she would say, all of the words skittered away like traitorous little mice, leaving her with just one, tiny, whispered word.

" . . . Hi."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Yes, not to worry. I'll be writing my version of the Fenris comfort scene after the death of Leandra that is eluded to in this short. Keep your eyes peeled for it. ;) Without me realizing it, my Hawke has seemed to develop a temper along with her jokes and sarcasm.

I love it when that happens. :)


	9. New Beginnings

_Author's Note:_

Thank you to my reviewers/lurkers/fav-ers/watchers – you're all awesome and I love you all. :)

Special thanks to **Alamorn** for the helpful review. Even though I didn't quite agree with _everything_ you suggested due to my own opinions and POV, I do appreciate the constructive criticisms you had to offer. They really did help.

This goes out to anyone willing to offer constructive criticism. I might not _always _agree with you have to say, and if not, then I will politely say so. It's usually due to my own opinions on characters/story, etc. And I will always respectfully state why in my reply. But it's not that I don't appreciate the suggestions and advice. I just see things a little differently, that's all, and I do take all criticism to heart, whether I choose to agree with it or not. ;)

Also, I realized when I booted up my rogue save today, that my Hawke's name in-game is actually Daedr_e_, rather than Daedr_a_. Heh. Pretty bad I don't even know my own character's name. :P I'll be keeping it Daedra in these stories though, for continuity's sake (and because I've grown attached to the name) and to avoid confusion.

Anyway, I'll shut up now.

Enjoy a little bit of optimism,

-i.I

**P.S.** If anyone's interested, I've filled out a meme on deviantART regarding Daedra that has a screenshot of her appearance. It is located here (without the spaces, of course): thetivster . deviantart . com/#/d3dzlby

_Disclaimer: All my inspiration are belong to BioWare._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-Game – During Hawke's rule as Viscountess

* * *

** New Beginnings**

She always knew there would be a downside to ruling as Viscountess.

In fact, she'd found more downsides than there were upsides. But she had to admit, it had never crossed her mind that Fenris would end up being the one to pay for her ruling the city. It wasn't even because someone had a problem with her rule. On the contrary, it was because they loved her rule so much that they didn't want it "soiled" by Elven blood. It wasn't like she was looking to establish a family lineage to rule the city in the first place. Maker knew that if she didn't enjoy being Viscountess, she wouldn't subject any children she may have in the future to that bleak and boring existence. As a rogue, she hated being in the spotlight. Too many prying eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move, and anyone who knew her knew that she was certainly a less-than-honorable fighter. She'd spent an entire year as a hired sword, and the jobs she'd accepted after that weren't exactly on the side of the lawful (well ... not _all_ of them, anyway). Her grasp on the law was somewhat... questionable, much to Aveline's constant chagrin. Even being the Champion gave her more attention than she was comfortable with, _let alone _Viscountess.

Hawke didn't even know how the nobles found out about her and Fenris to begin with. They hadn't exactly been very open about their relationship. As far as the rest of the nobles were concerned, he was her bodyguard, and nothing more. And it wasn't like her friends to be feeding the nobles information.

Perhaps it was the fact that she'd (very quickly) turned down every man who thought he had a chance to ask for her hand, and she had no doubt Fenris' sharp, killing glares may have given something away to someone who was observant enough. But surely that wasn't enough to warrant someone into action?

_Maker, I am so naive sometimes._

However the attacker found out, he decided the best time to put his plan into action was during a rather dull social gathering among the nobles (one of the few she actually attended), moments after they'd stepped into the room. Fenris was fully clad in his typical armour set while she opted for something a mite less intimidating than her Champion armour (but oh, she did rather _love_ that armour), settling for a light blue tunic and corset, paired with dark brown leggings of fine leather and a not-quite-ceremonial dagger strapped to the belt at her hips. She hadn't worn a dress since she was a child (at the behest of her mother), and she was _not _about to start now, regardless of what may or may not have been expected of her. Spotlight or no, she drew the line at dresses.

Fenris hadn't been expecting an attack on his _own_ life. He was constantly watching out for her. She was the one on the Viscount's throne, after all, and they both agreed it was better for him to appear as her bodyguard for his intimidating appearance (and not to mention the massive greatsword on his back at all times). He trusted no one else with her safety, and there was indeed no one she trusted more to keep her safe.

And so, when that bolt came soaring across the room, it was she who was attempting to warn him, to no avail. It was superficial wound, shot from a crossbow into his shoulder. It barely even left a scar when they'd gotten a skilled healer to tend to it. It was probably meant to humiliate and discourage his involvement with the Viscountess rather than actually kill him (either that, or the attacker simply had _horrendous _aim).

"I'll not stand by while the Viscountess' noble blood is sullied by that of a lowly _knife-ear_!"

That was when the not-quite-ceremonial dagger just became a regular old _dagger_ that she sent flying directly towards the retreating offender, her normally deadly aim catching him in the thigh instead. He went tumbling to the floor, screaming as several armoured guards surrounded him. She'd leave him for the guard to deal with ("Have fun, Aveline!") as she stooped to assist her "bodyguard".

Sometimes she wondered if the people simply forgot she'd been a highly trained fighter for the majority of her life.

She later found out from Aveline that the offender had been a hopeful suitor that she'd turned down merely a month earlier (she had no memory of him – he couldn't have been that impressive), who had somehow discovered her relationship with Fenris and decided to do something about it. Yes, because attacking the man she loved was the way to win her over. Clearly. That was one of the many times she'd questioned the sanity of the nobles.

He didn't know her companions very well, and _certainly_ not Fenris. Indeed, they were both laughing about it by the time the wound was healed, in comparison to some of the other wounds they'd suffered. He still had those two ugly scars on his chest from his brush with death outside the Dalish camp on Sundermount, and the jagged scar along her abdomen from a battle with a certain Arishok was nothing if not unsightly.

Regardless, the event did make her think. What if it happened again and the attacker _was_ going for a kill? It certainly was capable of happening again, now that her _scandalous_ relationship with her former Tevinter slave bodyguard (which really wasn't all that scandalous considering they were together long before she actually assumed her position as Viscountess), who was very _not_ human and _not _noble, had been exposed. Maker forbid she be with the man she'd loved for years.

Normally, she wouldn't be the kind to give up without a fight, but why fight for something she never really wanted in the first place? She'd done everything she could for the city. The Chantry had been rebuilt to its former glory, and a few dozen mages had already been admitted into the new Circle, with some enchanters coming from Ferelden's Circle (relatively stable, thanks to the Hero of Ferelden) to teach, and one of those enchanters by the name of Wynne had been appointed the new First Enchanter. Cullen was proving to be a competent Knight-Commander, showing the compassion she knew he held towards those fearful of what the Circle had to offer, and being _very _selective of those he allowed into the Order. She'd tried her best to handle the mages' situation with extreme care, knowing full well what was happening to other Circles throughout Thedas because of Anders' revolutionary actions.

Now, she felt as though there was little else she could do, and the obsessive behaviour some of the nobles had towards her was proving to be nothing less than unsettling.

And so, when Hawke and her companions gathered in the Hanged Man one warm spring night for a game of Diamondback, she settled back in her chair, one arm hooked over the back and a half-empty mug of ale on the table in front of her. It was there, she decided to break the news as matter-of-factly as possible.

"So, we've decided to go back to Ferelden." She explained, glancing at Fenris sitting silently beside her, "I'm stepping down as Viscountess."

Varric looked up at her over his cards with one eyebrow raised up his forehead. Aveline simply smirked, and Merrill stared at her. There were no hints of surprise on any of their faces, and she couldn't help but chuckle, "Saw it coming, did you?"

"From a mile away," Aveline replied, "To be honest, we were all wondering what took you so long."

She laughed, "Nice to see you had such faith in my ability to lead."

"You know better than that, Hawke." Varric said with a chuckle, "It's more because we know how much you hated it."

"Well, cleaning up the mess left behind by Orsino and Meredith was no easy feat. As much as I hate to say it, Seneschal Bran was a great help. Which is a little surprising, because I don't think he likes me very much."

"Well, think about it, Hawke." He continued, "The man's the very definition of a traditionalist. And you do have an affinity for _stirring the pot_."

"I'm not sure what he was expecting to happen." She shook her head, with a shrug, "The only competent leader this city had beforehand died at the hands of the Qunari. After Orsino and Meredith, _some_ changes had to be made."

"And you've done well," Aveline nodded at her, "Despite your reluctance to lead, and all of the headaches you've still somehow managed to give me."

"Viscountess or not, Aveline, it _is_ still me, we're talking about." She smiled, "Giving you headaches is one of the few fun things about being Viscountess."

"Of course it is."

It was time to move on now, however. Time to think about _herself_ for once. She looked over at Fenris, and smiled at the warm expression she found in his eyes, "I'm looking forward to going back home, I think. I miss it. There's something appealing about fading back into obscurity."

"Somehow I doubt it will be that easy, Hawke." Varric said, "Especially considering King Alistair knows who you are."

"Fah," She made a dismissive gesture with her hand, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. She had no doubt he'd find out she was in the country before long, and if he was desperate for her help then she would give it. But the Hero of Ferelden was still alive, and at least he _knew_ her. Hawke was at least hoping to get a year or two on the backburner before she was forced to take on yet another major adventure.

"Just... promise me one thing, guys." She leaned forward, balancing her elbows on the table, "You'll make sure they find a good replacement? I've developed a certain affinity for this city. I don't want to see it go up in flames again. These people have been through so much. The place deserves a nice long period of at least _partial_ peace and stability."

"Of course."

"If the replacement is anyone I know," She added, a wry grin pulling her mouth to the side, "Write me and I'll tell you if they're worth it. On second thought, write to us anyway."

"Sure thing, Hawke." Varric responded, a wide smile taking hold of his features.

They arrived in Gwaren less than three weeks later, after a relatively small farewell ceremony among the nobles (which, she had to admit, she was debating on whether she would go, but decided it was the least she could do before leaving them) and her formal resignation, as well as a more personal goodbye among her friends on the day of their departure.

When the ship docked and she took her first steps onto Ferelden soil in nearly thirteen years with Fenris one one side, and Alden on the other, she inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

She clasped her lover's hand in her own, unable to stop the wide smile from stretching across her face, "Ah, there's nothing quite like the smell of wet dog to make you feel welcome."

Alden let out a happy bark that said he agreed and her laughter followed them into the town. A little flutter of excitement bubbled in her belly. They were starting a new life. A new beginning. She couldn't help but think that this was the happiest she'd been in _quite_ a long time.

From the look on Fenris' face, he felt much the same.


	10. Dawn

_Author's Note:_

As usual, my customary THANK YOU goes out to all of my watchers/reviewers/fav-ers/lurkers, etc. You're all awesome.

Not much to say about this one, other than the fact that it's short, and a little fluff before I get back into the serious stuff again. Thought we could use a break from all the angst for a couple of installments. ;)

Enjoy!

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it all. I own nothing. If I owned Fenris I'd run the risk of having my heart forcibly removed from my chest. I'm not quite willing to risk that._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Sometime late in Act III – After Fenris' apology

* * *

** Dawn  
**

A sudden jab to his ribs woke him roughly from his slumber, and his eyes opened with a start, quickly adjusting to the low tones of color in the large room as the darkness began to give way to approaching daylight. Through the window, the sky was the light grey that signified dawn was well on its way, and birds twittered from somewhere in Hightown.

A heavy, sleep-addled sigh sounded to his right, and he felt his lips tug into a smile as he turned and saw her. He rolled onto his side carefully to prevent rousing her, and propped himself up on an elbow, shaking his head lightly. No matter how close they held each other the night before, she always ended up in the same position by the time they awoke; curled into a ball on her side, with the coverlet drawn up to her chin as if it were the dead of winter, rather than the middle of the summer. It had been her knees that were jabbing him in the ribcage earlier.

He often wondered why Hawke truly needed the large four-post bed that dominated her bedroom when she took up so little space. Not that he was complaining, now that they were together. The smaller the bed, the higher the likelihood of her jabbing him in the ribs with her knees.

Her breath was relaxed and even, escaping through slightly parted lips and a rogue strand of deep red hair fell onto one of her closed eyes, subconsciously twitching in an attempt to rid itself of the offending sensation.

He lifted his hand and gently brushed the hair from her face, watching as her features calmed and settled into serenity. It was a welcome sight, nowadays. With all of the trouble with the mages and templars, and Orsino and Meredith constantly at each other's throats, sleep was really the only escape she received. Despite her constant levity and ability to find humour in every situation, it was only when she was sleeping, that the crease between her brows seemed to disappear. And yet, even then, her slumber was sometimes haunted by nightmares and memories of times long since past.

Those were the nights he held her closest.

Looking at her now, curled into the fetal position with her knees pulled to her chest, she looked oddly innocent and childlike, though that was the farthest thing from the truth, he knew. She'd seen far more death in the last decade than many could claim to have seen in their lifetime – much of it by her own hand. She was the last living member of her immediate family. She knew the ins and outs of battle and defeated the qunari Arishok in single combat. And, well, then there was what they'd been up to the night before...

He watched her for a while, simply studying the features he'd committed to memory long ago, until she finally stirred, and her eyes fluttered open, revealing those stunning emerald irises. Blinking the bleariness from her eyes, she turned her gaze up to meet his with a smile.

"Good morning." He greeted softly, brushing her hair from her face again.

"G'morning." She mumbled, her speech slurred and fatigued, "Mmmwatching me sleep?"

"I was just wondering how it is possible for you to sleep in that position."

She laughed softly, her mouth quirking into her signature half-smile, and her arms escaped the covers, reaching high above her head as she unfurled her legs and stretched, "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"I'll pass." He replied, smirking as he took the opportunity to appreciate the view before she relaxed again and turned on her side to face him. She inched closer and he dropped from his elbow as her arm draped over his chest and he drew her to his side.

"Can we just stay in bed all day?" She asked with a groan as her fingers idly traced the markings on his chest. They flared beneath her touch, but he was not about to tell her to stop, "I'm not in the mood to help the needy today."

He breathed a quick laugh, stroking his fingers through her hair, "Didn't you say something last night about helping the dwarf investigate his brother's mansion?"

He felt her smile, more than saw it and there was a hint of mischief in her voice when she replied, "I said a lot of things last night."

"I mean before that." He felt himself smile again, "You did promise him, if I'm not mistaken."

She sighed heavily, splaying her fingers flat on his chest, sending a jolt through him that was not entirely unpleasant as her breath brushed warmly against the crook of his neck, "Right, _just_ what I wanted to do – pick my way through a haunted mansion in search of _who knows what_ to smash some idol that may or may not be the cause of the problem_._"

"Would you rather go back down into the sewers to help Anders—"

"Oh, don't remind me." She shook her head fiercely, "If I never have to think about that again, it'll be too soon. That stench will forever be burned into my memory."

He felt her shudder in his arms, and a smirk tugged his mouth to the side, "Well, if you'd prefer to stay in bed all day, I offer no complaints. Though, knowing you, you'd be up pacing restlessly after no more than a few minutes."

"Maybe," She chuckled, and then let out a sigh, "But you're right. I told Varric I would help him out, I won't back down on him now. Besides, what's a few ghosts, when you spend your days fighting demons and blood mages?"

"It does seem to be a daily occurrence, doesn't it?"

"Well, what do you expect when the two opposing leaders are more concerned with their opposition than their respective charges? Meredith's a ruthless power-monger and Orsino's too busy arguing with her to provide the guidance the Circle needs right now. They're a couple of sodding _fools_."

He had no arguments there.

He met her eyes with his own as she turned her face upwards to look at him, her eyes wide and hopeful, "Will you come with me today? To help Varric? We could use your help."

"Of course." He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, "I am always at your side. For as long as you have need of me."

"What if it's not a question of need," She said carefully, "but of _want_?"

His gaze softened and his thumb followed the line of her jaw down to her chin, bending his neck and drawing her upwards to whisper lightly against her lips, "I am _always_ at your side."

He felt her shiver and smile against his mouth as his hand rounded to the back of her neck and entangled itself in her hair, their lips meeting in a slow, gentle kiss that could have lead to so much more if they'd allowed it. Alas, the sun was rising and there was much to do.

That didn't stop them, however, from sneaking poorly-veiled (on his end, anyway. She was a rogue; stealth was her speciality) glances at each other when they finally did roll out of bed and began to dress for the day.

Fenris was certain she was making more of a show of it than usual, with the way she sauntered over to her bureau to collect her clothing and shimmied her hips into her breeches.

Maker, this woman would be the death of him.

Not that he was complaining, of course.


	11. Grief

_Author's Note:_

Thank you to all my watchers/fav-ers/lurkers/reviewers, etc. You're the bestest.

Well, folks. Here it is. The big one. Alluded to in previous chapters, here is the aftermath of the_ All That Remains_ quest. If you haven't finished that quest, don't read further. Though, if you'd read any of my story to date, you probably already know the details, as they are mentioned in previous chapters.

This is how I picture Daedra's reaction. It's very different from the in-game reaction, but you'll forgive the liberties, right? Right.

Thanks for reading and sticking with me,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: Oh, right, you know those dudes at BioWare? Yeah, they own it._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Act II – Immediately following the main story quest _All That Remains_

* * *

** Grief **

Her fingers parted and allowed the light from the hearth to reflect brilliantly off the polished surface of the silver locket beneath. It had been pressed so firmly into her palm that it left an imprint in her skin, she realized dimly before closing her fingers around it again, lifting her gaze back up into the fire. She was half tempted to crawl into the flames and curl up in a ball, letting the inferno take her away from this world.

Hawke had walked numbly from the foundry in utter silence, as Fenris carried Leandra's "body" behind her. Somehow, she managed to get back to her estate, but she had no memory of making her way up through the markets of Lowtown and then through the Hightown Estates. She was simply moving, following a habit. Retracing footsteps that she'd memorized long ago. She wasn't even sure how she managed to get out of her armour.

The vision of her mother, stumbling unsteadily towards her, ghostly pale, her eyes empty and void of life, that unsightly scar drawn across her neck, refused to relent from Hawke's sight. The way Leandra had raised a hand that wasn't hers, fingers that were too long, too thin, to brush against her daughter's cheek, smiling through it all. Being strong for her child as she passed into the Fade.

Hawke admired her mother for that strength. She was not that strong, despite her mother's final assurance that this was not the case. Rather than take tension and pain in stride, squaring her shoulders with her head held high, she deflected it with jokes and humour, fearful to face it.

_I always save the day. _Her own words reverberated off the recesses of her mind as if she'd said them aloud. _But I couldn't save her._

"_So it's _your_ fault!"_

Gamlen's words tore at her heart and soul, and she nearly flinched when he said them. The first time she'd seen him show any sort of affection towards his sister, and it came in the face of her death, racked by the tears Hawke herself hadn't been able to shed.

Even now, her eyes were dry. Why? All throughout her life she'd been a damn _sap_ and now, when her mother is _dead_, she can't shed a bloody tear? What kind of daughter was she?

She raked her hands through her hair and balanced her elbows on her knees, flames in the hearth forming the shape of her disfigured mother as she drowned out the rest of the world. Instead, she focused on memories of her mother's smile, her laugh, the glare that always made her feel as if she was two inches tall, the many, _many_ times her mother would scold her for her latest con, or throw up her hands in exasperation. Maker, she was a wild girl indeed.

"_Mamaaa! Daedra told me flour tasted like sugar!"_

_Carver bounded into the room from the kitchen and up to Leandra, face covered in a white coating of flour, tears leaving salty trails through the powdery mess. Leandra's mouth twitched, and it was clear she was holding back a smile as she stooped to be eye-level with her three-year-old son, "And you believed her?"_

_It was at that time, she stepped forward out of the shadows, not bothering to hide from her mother's disarming glare, as she knew it would come sooner or later, "Well, you know me, Mama. I can be very convincing."_

_She shrank under her mother's gaze, (still holding back a smile, however) as Leandra shook her head, "_Conniving_ is more like it. I don't have to look into the kitchen to know there's a huge mess, do I?" _

_The kitchen was a disaster zone of flour and sugar. She'd been sitting on the counter, digging sugar out of the jar and shovelling it into her face when Carver walked in, and the beginnings of a plan wove its way into her mind. _

"_You're going to clean it all up, Daedra. Alone."_

Cleaning the kitchen had taken her nearly an hour. But it was all worth it to see the look on Carver's face when he took that fistful of flour and dumped it into his mouth.

"I don't know what to say," Fenris' voice sliced into her thoughts, drawing her attention back into the real world as his bare feet padded into her room, "but... I am here."

She didn't look at him, but felt her gut twist with anger at the thoughts she knew were going through his mind, "Why?" She asked quietly, "Why did you come here, Fenris? To say _I told you so_? Go ahead. Say it. I'm sure you want to."

"That's not..."

"Magic is a danger, right?" She turned her gaze to look at him. He was unarmoured, having removed his breastplate and gauntlets either before he entered her room , or before he left his mansion, and the absence of the metal gear made him look less intimidating and more like a friend. She shook it from her mind as she continued, "A curse that taints everything it touches, and it's my own fault, right? For helping the mages. I stand up and help them defend their rights, and what do they do in return? They take my mother from me. They're all the same. That's what you're thinking, right?"

He'd relapsed into silence.

"Maker help me, it's what I'm beginning to think, too." She removed her eyes from him, staring at the floor as her shoulders fell with shame, "They're gone. All of them. Father, Carver, Bethany. Mother was all I had left, and now she's gone too. I'm alone because some blood mage _bastard_ couldn't let go of his dead wife!"

Her legs stood then, of their own accord, and she found herself whirling to face the elf, "So yes, mages are bastards, is that what you want me to say? Condemn my father and baby sister to the same black and white view that you've adopted? I'm supposed to forget how much Bethany feared the templars? How often she just wanted to _wish away_ her magic just so she could be normal? I'm expected to forget all of the tears she shed every time we had to uproot ourselves and move because the templars were getting just a little too close? She was _eighteen years old. _The sweetest, kindest girl who had her whole life ahead of her, and there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't blame herself for mother's misery and stress!"

She wasn't making sense. She knew Fenris had come to comfort her. She was being cruel and unfair to the elf by throwing this at him, but logic and reason had abandoned her in the face of her grief. Her mother's murder pushed her over the edge, and everything she'd held inside up until now, all of her pain and confusion and conflicted beliefs were flowing out at once, and she couldn't stop them. Her feet began to move, pacing wildly in front of the fireplace.

"All my mother ever wanted was for her children to be safe, but her precious twins were ripped from her, and then she was stuck with _me. _The trouble maker. The con artist. The one who took sick pleasure in pushing her buttons, and now she's _gone_!"

Why wasn't Fenris saying anything? Damn him! She would have preferred to argue with him, to have someone yell at her, if for nothing other than a distraction from the turmoil stirring inside her. The realization that she was alone. She rounded on him, stalking up to meet him as the familiar lump formed in her throat, and her voice cracked in emotion, "So go ahead! Tell me you were right! Tell me I had it coming! Scold me for my _blasted_ compassion, I know you want to!"

His hands clamped around her biceps in an attempt to calm the wild thrashing about she wasn't aware she was doing, and her fists collided soundly with his chest as the first tears broke loose, "Say it!"

The muscles of his jaw were flexing, and his arms closed around her, stiff and unsure. Her forehead landed unceremoniously against his chest and before she realized it, the dam broke. Her legs collapsed in under her and he sank to the floor with her. Her hands took hold of his jerkin like it was the only thing keeping her grounded in this world, while hopeless, hiccupping sobs racked her body, tears creating dark blotches where they fell onto the fabric with abandon.

With time, his body relaxed, and he just held her through her tears as they sat on the floor, the chain of her mother's locket still dangling from her fingers. She hadn't been able to cry beforehand because she was numb, unwittingly shutting herself off from any emotion until Fenris' presence alone brought forward her anger, and thereby gave way to her sorrow. It allowed her to bring forth her emotions and banish her numbness so she could properly grieve the loss of her mother.

How did he know? _Did_ he know? Or, was he just playing it by ear? Maybe he just got lucky. Either way, he'd provided exactly what she needed, and she couldn't thank him enough for that.

Eventually, she remembered the locket still in her hand as she calmed into simple hiccupped breaths and a broken voice. She looked down at it, still leaning up against Fenris' chest. She fingered the pendant lightly, gingerly. As if any real pressure would crumble it like dust, even though she'd been clutching it tight enough to leave an imprint in her palm mere minutes before.

For his part, Fenris had stayed completely silent the whole time, but finally spoke when he looked down and noticed her staring at her mother's locket, "I... believe she would want you to have it."

She chuckled mirthlessly, "You don't know my mother. If she wanted anyone to have it, it would have been Bethany. I don't... deserve it."

He held out his hand beside her own, a silent question that she knew he was asking. She acquiesced, not in the mood to argue, and handed him the locket. He fumbled with the clasp for a moment before lowering it in front of her face and securing it around her neck without so much as the barest touch of his skin to hers.

"You should get some sleep." He muttered, his arms falling away.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she lowered her head to stare at the floor, "If I close my eyes, I'm afraid of what I might see."

He was quiet for a moment, his jaw muscles clenching in thought before he looked down at her and she met his eyes – tender and careful, his brows creased in concern, "If you need me, I will stay tonight. But I cannot offer more than that. I'm sorry."

Her arms encircled his body, her cheek tight against his chest. He stiffened as she let out a sigh, "To be honest, I wasn't even expecting that much. But I'd like that."

Fenris nodded, standing and helping her to her feet as she approached the bed, turning back the covers and settling herself beneath them. He rounded to the other side and sat up with his back against the headboard as she turned towards him and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, curling her body into a compact ball. She blinked a couple times before finally allowing her eyes to close, only to open a moment later and look up at him, "Fenris?"

"Yes?" He replied, looking down to meet her eyes.

"Thank you. For everything."

"I'm here if you need me, Hawke."

She nodded slightly before her eyes drifted shut again, and sleep finally started to summon her.

Beneath the covers, unknown to Fenris as she huddled her knees close to her chest, trembling slightly and inhaling quick leftover hiccups from her earlier emotional display, her hands subconsciously clutched the locket secured around her neck, almost as if seeking comfort from the tiny memento.

She had no nightmares that night, and dreamed of her mother's laughter instead.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Fun Fact_: That memory of Hawke with young!Carver? It actually happened between my two older brothers. My oldest brother was one hell of a con artist when he was a kid. As a matter of fact, he still is. The man could sell snow to an Eskimo.


	12. Surprise: Part 1

_Author's Note:_

Thanks to all my watchers/fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers, etc. You're all the sugar to my coffee. :)

I was planning on uploading another short from Act I (I've been posting a lot of post-game shorts lately), but then I remembered, "Hey! It's Mother's Day! The Act I short can wait, I have another, more appropriate one to post." :P

I'm not gonna say anything about it. Just simply: Happy Mother's Day.

Enjoy,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns everything._

* * *

**Time-Frame: **Post-Game – Some time following Hawke and Fenris' return to Ferelden.

* * *

**Surprise!**

In all fairness, they probably should have seen it coming, Hawke mused as she emerged from the small clinic. It wasn't as if they were really limiting their _nightly shenanigans_ and to be honest, and she had to wonder why it hadn't happened sooner, until the healer had inquired about the ugly scar marring her abdomen. She delicately mentioned her rather unpleasant encounter with the unfriendly end of a longsword, and the old woman mused in no uncertain terms that the trauma to her abdomen (though expertly healed at the hands of a certain possessed mage) had likely been the reason for the trouble conceiving. Not that they had been really hoping to conceive in the first place.

The old woman had dropped the news into her lap with a vibrant smile, but the only emotion Daedra had felt at the time was complete panic. Daedra Hawke, a _mother_? This was a woman who spent her days twirling and throwing daggers around, reveling in her talent for humour and light-heartedness, traveling with her Elven ex-slave lover (whom she hadn't even married, despite their undeniable love for each other) from city to city. _My, my, the Chantry would be appalled. _She thought, fighting back a snicker.

Marriage was never something she truly needed. She had never asked more of him than he was willing to give, and throwing the concept of marriage at him just seemed an unnecessary pressure. She didn't need marriage to know he was committed to her, nor she to him. She was perfectly happy to accept what he'd given her, knowing how difficult it was to attain even that much. She loved him, and he loved her (though the amount of times he'd said so openly could be counted upon one hand). That was enough for her.

She made her way down the cobblestone path and took her time on her way back to the small home she inhabited with her lover, biting her lip nervously.

_Maker's breath, how am I supposed to tell him __**this**__?_

In all of their years together, all of the things she'd learned about his personality and possible reactions to certain types of _news_, she had absolutely _no idea_ how he was about to react to this particular brand. Sure, he was committed to her, but would he be so open to committing to his child? They had never really talked about the possibility of children. They'd have short little mentions of it here and there, especially during her rule as Viscountess, but it had always been with a sort of _we'll-cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it_ attitude. Now, she'd wished they'd talked about it beforehand.

It all started a week prior, when she discovered she was late in her monthly cycle. As an active rogue who spent her time fighting and training, she had never been decidedly regular, so she never thought much of it. Two days later, however, she'd woken up in the morning feeling more nauseous than she had in _years. _She'd tumbled out of bed and immediately emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot. Fenris jumped out of bed himself and knelt beside her, placing a hand at her lower back as she composed herself and looked at her in concern while warning bells blared in her ears.

"Daedra... ?"

"I'm... I'm fine, Fenris." She'd responded, taking his hand in her own as she hovered over the chamber pot, lingering not because she felt nauseous still, but because a flock of butterflies had suddenly decided to take up residence in the pit of her stomach as nervousness began to settle in, "I've been training a lot lately. I think this is my body's way of telling me to relax." She lied, plastering a small smile on her face, "Sometimes I guess I forget that the battle for Kirkwall is over."

She'd set out to meet the local healer in town, without mentioning it to Fenris, instead saying she was going out to peruse the market. She wanted to be sure, one way or another, before she told him anything. Alden had been waiting outside the clinic for her and as she stepped back out into the open, he tilted his head to the side curiously. She stooped in front of him with a smile, and he nudged at her stomach, sniffing and huffing. Unable to stop the widening of her smile, she scratched him affectionately behind the ears, "Sometimes I think you're smarter than everyone gives you credit for, boy."

Rather than head directly towards her home, she chose to veer away to aimlessly browse the market, lingering and making an attempt to gather her words. Without any real success. Apparently, it was certainly possible for one to be both unequivocally ecstatic, and utterly _terrified_ at the very same time. Occasionally, her hand would drift over her abdomen like a ghost, nervousness, and fear, and indeed a little excitement creeping over her features, and as she approached a display, she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"How far along now?"

Hawke's head snapped upwards to look at the shopkeeper who'd asked the question. An old woman with crinkles around her eyes and a wide, friendly smile with prominent laugh-lines. This was a woman who enjoyed life, Hawke could see, and she must've noticed her behavior. Or... the fact that, in her reverie, she'd picked up a teddy bear from the display and had been staring at it intently, "Ah... Six weeks."

"Well congratulations." The shopkeeper replied with that wide, cheerful smile of hers, and a knowing twinkle in her eye.

"... Thank you."

By the time she'd returned to the house, the grey light of dusk had begun to fall. She opened the door and quietly stepped inside, a basket filled with freshly baked bread and an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and a certain little teddy bear, tucked under her arm, simply standing in the entryway for a moment before shutting the door softly behind her. Alden settled beside the door with a quiet _huff_, and she took a deep breath, stepping into the main room and placing the basket down silently upon the table.

Their home was not nearly as large or extravagant as her old estate back in Kirkwall, but it was certainly a comfortable size, nestled along the outskirts of town. They valued their privacy, and Hawke was not joking when she said she wished to fade back into obscurity, and to be unrecognizable to everyone who laid eyes upon her. Fenris certainly hadn't argued, living as he had, constantly on edge of being found by Tevinter slave hunters. The likelihood of encountering any now was extremely slim, especially back in Ferelden, but he had never completely abandoned the possibility, and the fewer people who knew of them, the better. They traveled much during the last few years, Hawke's affinity for adventuring never truly leaving her. But these travels were no longer under the threat of certain death, and it was nice to not have people depending on her, expecting things of her, relying on her to keep order in a city full of chaos.

Dependence. There would be another life dependent on her in the years to come, and her affinity for adventure would have to come to a halt, unfortunately. At least for a little while. Who knows? Perhaps the child would come to have a thirst for adventure, just like her mother.

_Her?_ Maker, she'd just found out, and already she was guessing at the gender. She pictured a tiny little girl, with beautiful moss green eyes and fiery red hair, tugging on the hem of her tunic, pleading with those adorably disarming puppy eyes that Fenris so fervently denied having. _Oh Maker, this child is going to be so spoiled._ She imagined the child would have Fenris wrapped around her little finger, as much as he would deny it.

_Child. Mother._ Those two words suddenly sent peals of terror racing through her heart, and she clenched her jaw as her stomach decided it was the perfect time to dance the remigold in a fit of nerves.

_Relax. We can do this. This is a happy occasion. _There was a _life_ growing inside of her, she realized, a smile suddenly playing on her lips as she ran her hand gently over her abdomen. Distantly, she thought of the scar marring that very same area. It was a miracle, she'd decided, that life had chosen to form within her womb after the trauma it had suffered. _Though, I suppose it shouldn't be surprising, given how stubborn Fenris and I are._

The healer had asked her to return often for updates on the pregnancy, due to the fragility of her situation, and she had to admit, she toyed with the idea of not telling Fenris, in case things went sour. She squashed that thought quickly, however. He had to know. She couldn't keep this from him. It would be unfair, and he was certain to find out sooner or later when she began to inexplicably gain weight.

Drawing in a deep breath, she mustered the vestiges of her courage and stepped quietly towards the study, poking her head around the corner. A book hung half-open upon the arm of the chair set before the hearth, and the familiar body of her love was bent slightly over the fireplace, poking at a recently-placed log as the flames began to lap hungrily at the dried bark. She entered while he inserted another log into the blaze, snaking her arms around his midsection as he straightened. Her face nestled in the crook of his neck as he turned his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder, his hands covering her own set about his waist.

"Reading?" She whispered.

He gave her a small, tender smile, and a tiny nod, the flames playing along his sharp Elven features alluringly, and casting an orange tint to his otherwise colorless hair, "Shartan."

"Again?" She smiled.

He turned in her arms, tilting his gaze down to meet her own as his arms relocated to surround her waist, "It was a gift from a dear friend."

"Oh really?" Her eyes twinkled with mirth, "Just a friend, huh?"

"Indeed." His eyes reflected the playfulness in her own, "A friend that somehow managed to convince me to run away with her to Ferelden, where it rains constantly and smells of dog."

She laughed softly, splaying her hands against his chest and pulling back far enough to give him a mock glare, "You love it here, don't lie."

"Daedra, the things I love could be counted on one hand. Ferelden is not on that list. _Freedom_ is, however. That is first and foremost of the things I love. Followed by fine wine and a good book."

Her brow furrowed as she stared up at him, confusion and suspicion taking hold of her features, "You specifically don't mention me."

"You are most certainly on that list."

"Well, I hope I mean more to you than a book, or fine wine." A playful smirk tugged the corner of her mouth, dimpling her left cheek.

His eyes softened, his mouth pulling into a small smile as his hand reached up to caress her cheek, "But of course. You and my freedom are one and the same. It does not matter where I am. As long as you are happily at my side, I am truly free."

Her smirk turned into a full, wide smile, and she felt her eyes sting with the tears brought forth by the undying love she felt for this tall, broody elf and his forwardness with his affection for her. She silently thanked the Maker for allowing her to find such love and understanding in such an unlikely partner. She met his lips with her own, pushing herself up on her toes as one of his hands hand rounded her waist, pulling her closer, and the other buried itself in her hair. Deepening the kiss, she arched her back into him, her hands cradling his face, but pulled back suddenly, before she got too distracted.

_You have some news to deliver, remember?_

He eyed her, curiosity creasing his brow as she chewed her already swollen bottom lip.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" She assured him with a quick shake of her head, as she led him back to his armchair and knelt before him as he sat down, resting her arms atop his knees, "I just... I have something to tell you."

He simply gave her an expectant look, his eyes prodding her to continue.

"I, ah, saw the healer today."

"Were you feeling sick again?"

"No, not today. I just... I had a hunch." She shrugged, a light smile taking hold of her features, "And... it turns out I was right."

Again, he gave her that expectant look, and she took a breath, letting it out slowly.

"Fenris... I'm pregnant." Hawke was unable to keep the smile from her face, then. Yet, nervousness still danced in her belly while she waited for his reaction.

He just stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise, and it was a few agonizing moments before he found his voice, "You're... pregnant..."

Raising a hand to cradle his cheek, she gave him a gentle nod, smiling, "We're going to have a baby."

He broke eye-contact with her, but she saw the fear in his eyes before he looked away. She knew how he felt.

"Hey, look at me." She said, gentle but firm, her hand pulling his face back towards her, "I know you're scared. Maker knows I'm terrified – can you picture me as a mother? – but I know we can do this. Together. I can't do this without you."

He shook his head lightly, his eyes turning tender and warm as he took her hands and pulled her into his lap, her knees fitting snugly between his hips and the arms of the chair, "After all this time, you truly have such little faith in me?" He asked her, causing a fresh stab of guilt slice into her gut, "Did I say I was going anywhere?"

"No..."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

Caught up in the intensity of the moment, and his acceptance of the rather unexpected news, despite his fear, she pulled his head forward and crushed her lips to his, their mouths meeting in a feverish battle for dominance before they finally parted for breath.

His hands roamed to her backside and pulled her up to her knees, bring his face perfectly level with her abdomen as he lifted the hem of her tunic upwards to reveal her stomach. Settling one hand at her hip, the other came around front and lightly rubbed along the length of the scar left behind by the Arishok's blade so many years ago. Understanding began to creep into his features after a moment as she ran her hands through his hair with a smile, bending to kiss the top of his head, "This child is either a miracle from the Maker, or is just as stubborn as the both of us."

She felt him smile against her skin as he pressed his lips to her abdomen, and her heart warmed with the simple gesture, "I'm willing to bet it's both."

She chuckled, "I suppose I can't argue with that logic, can I?"

He kissed her stomach again, and she gently raked her fingernails over his scalp for a moment, causing him to hum in approval before settling herself back down onto his lap, shaking her head, "Maker, I am such a fool. I was so nervous about telling you. I was worried that you would be angry, and that I might have to do this alone..."

"Daedra, you know how I once longed for the memory of a family. It was why I searched so fervently for Varania." His gaze darkened for a moment, undoubtedly recalling all of the unpleasantness that came with that discovery, before his eyes were filled with warmth again, "Now, I have the chance to make my own, with you. I am not about to pass that up."

"I know." She muttered, her hands cradling his face, staring into his eyes, "I was a fool for doubting you. I should've known better. I—"

He silenced her with a kiss that left her breathless, as his hands roamed up her back, and her own found their favourite places in his hair again (she loved his hair – all unnatural and unkempt and yet utterly beautiful. She found it was a near-perfect representation of his personality). Fenris set about trailing other tiny kisses along the line of her jaw, broken only by the low murmurs against her skin, "Daedra... Stop... _talking_."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and yet she still managed a tiny laugh, though it sounded more akin to a rather embarrassing squeak, "Right. Shutting up, now."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there. :)


	13. Wolf Hunt: Part 1

_Author's Note:_

My usual thanks goes out to all my watchers/reviewers/fav-ers/lurkers, etc. I love you all :) Makes me feel all mushy inside to know people enjoy my writing.

Well, hello again, peeps! Here's the story of how Daedra and Fenris met. His responses are mostly from the game, while some of Hawke's are my own little additions to fit better with her personality. Also, she gets a little... distracted. xD

Also also, the mention of the trap at the beginning _had_ to be included. Did anyone else notice how _obvious_ that trap was during their playthrough, or was it just me? I've always been overly observant, so it might just be me.

Anyways, enjoy,

-i.I

_Disclaimer: BioWare owns it._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Act I - _Bait and Switch_

* * *

**Wolf Hunt  
Part One: **It's Going to be a Long Night

The hovel was empty, or at least, it _looked_ that way when Hawke and the others stepped inside it. The back room was empty as well, but when she made to approach the last door, she spotted two explosive barrels set on either side of the frame that were far too meticulously placed for her taste, and she raised a hand—and an eyebrow, letting out a quiet huff of laughter, "Hold up."

She eyed the set-up with a hand on her hip, smiling slightly to herself, "What's wrong with this picture?"

Perhaps it was the fact that her companions were either rogues, or a mage who'd spent her entire life at a rogue's side (she'd have taken Aveline, but once the guardswoman found out lyrium was involved, she'd opted out, and Hawke certainly wasn't going to force her), but they all shook their heads in turn. Even Bethany had a knowing look about her.

"Now, I've seen my fair share of obvious traps. While this certainly isn't the _most_ obvious, it definitely deserves a place among my list of the _least subtle_." Hawke whispered.

"Well," Varric mused from her left as she crouched low, carefully studying the barrels and withdrawing a pair of tiny shears from a pouch at her belt, "I guess we know where all the smugglers are... and Anso's precious cargo."

The band of smugglers—or thieves—(Hawke wasn't sure what to call them really. Perhaps both?) was rather a lot smaller than she had anticipated, she had to admit. Frankly, she was a little disappointed, and was wondering where they all were as she withdrew her blade from the last smuggler's back and surveyed the damage.

No serious injuries to speak of, and Bethany was making quick work of the few injuries that were present.

Expecting a chest filled with lyrium, imagine Hawke's surprise when she flipped back the lid and felt her eyes narrowing at the wooden bottom in irritation, "Empty."

Varric had no problem voicing his frustration while she slammed the lid of the chest back down, shaking her head.

"Waste of bloody time. Who put us up to this?"

She sighed, "Looks like we have no choice but to go tell Anso his cargo is still missing. Hurrah."

The half-circle that surrounded them upon their exit of the hovel was really only enough to make Hawke shrug, at first, vaguely aware of the fact that she and her companions were not who they were looking for. Yet, they still attacked. Go figure.

She drew her daggers and immediately disappeared into the shadows while Isabela diverted attention away from Varric and Bethany. These men were different from those inside the house, she noticed. There was a major difference of appearances, and the presence of whips at their belts (that she used to her advantage more than once in battle, grabbing the bundled length of leather and pulling them close enough to plunge her dagger into their backs) set her on edge. These men were _definitely _not from around here.

It was as one of the men fell dead at her feet that she felt an unseen force collide with her from behind, knocking her to the ground and sending her into a roll until she slammed into a wall. _Oh, lovely. Reinforcements. _Her vision blurred and her left arm throbbed as she hobbled back to a (more or less) standing position, using the wall for support, "Okay... Ow..."

Shaking the dizziness from her head, she saw the mage in the far corner, surrounded by swirls of a shimmering magic shield, and whirled to find her archer, who was busy tossing a smoke bomb into the fray of enemies and using the commotion to retreat to a safer place of attack. Bethany launched a bolt of lightning at the leader, and the electricity shuddered through the woman's body, stunning her while Isabela took advantage of the opportunity, plunging her daggers into the woman's back.

The mage's shield wore off, then, and Hawke noticed him lifting his staff, purple light crackling around the man's hands.

"Oh, no you don't." She muttered, retrieving a smoke bomb from her belt and whipping it at the ground directly at the mage's feet, smiling as his spell was interrupted and he stumbled backwards. She used the time to sprint up to meet the mage, but he recovered before she could get close enough for her daggers to make contact. The familiar drop in temperature had her back flipping out of range of his magic as spears of ice shot up from the ground. (All of those training sessions with Bethany never ceased to pay off when she found herself fighting mages.) He used the reprieve to disappear out of sight, and she whirled to find him, her breath clouding before her, "Damn it! Varric! Find the mage!"

It was the rush of air that gave the mage away before Varric's voice bellowed her name from across the battlefield. It came from behind, whooshing past her and blowing wild strands of deep red hair in front of her face. She spun, and heat rose up her left side, flames bursting forth from his staff with a blast of hot air, but suddenly, she wasn't there anymore, and her dagger was stabbing through his soft robes and into his back.

She shook her head at the blackened leather covering her left arm and side and whistled as the mage crumpled into a pile, "Sneaky bastard almost had me."

The rest of the enemies fell to her companions then, so Hawke sheathed her daggers and took a moment to survey their handiwork before joining Isabela in looting the bodies for anything useful.

"What do you think?" She asked, pulling a whip free and examining it thoughtfully, "Slavers?"

"Definitely." The pirate queen stated.

"But who was the elf that woman mentioned?"

Isabela chuckled, "Perhaps we should have kept her alive and asked her?"

Varric grunted and gestured to an identically armoured man stepping down the stairs to the Alienage, looking every bit as furious as she would be if she were a slaver and her entire company of fellow slavers was slaughtered at the hands of four strangers, "Something tells me we're about to find out."

"I don't know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here." He turned his head to the right slightly as they approached, beckoning to someone unseen and around the corner up the stairs, "Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing! Now!"

Hawke had opened her mouth to protest, something along the lines of, _I'm not your __**friend**__, pal._ But the sight of the supposed lieutenant staggering forward down the steps, blood flowing through the gaps in his armour like a river, caused her words to leave her. He fell in a heap upon the landing, and her breath followed her words as a tall elf with unnaturally white hair stepped over the body like it was nothing. The elf didn't cast so much as a glance towards the dead lieutenant, nor his superior in his approach. As he did so, Hawke noticed that his dark skin was marked by swirling white lines that crept up his arms and neck like vines, disappearing beneath his tailored leather armour and a battle-worn (but well-maintained) metal breastplate. The hilt of a sword as long as she was tall protruded from over his shoulder.

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can." He had a gravelly baritone voice that caused a shiver to wash down her back, and her words suddenly escaped her for the second time that night as he stopped at the foot of the stairs, studying Hawke and her companions with a look she couldn't read. His eyes were a beautiful moss green that threatened to swallow her whole, and (though his face was kept in a controlled neutral state) as expressive as Isabela in a drunken stupor.

The commander's face darkened to a scowl. Apparently, he wasn't going to take the advice, and his hand clamped down on the elf's left shoulder from behind, "You're going nowhere, slave!"

Hawke wasn't exactly certain what happened, only that in the space of two seconds, there was a flash of blue, and the elf's clawed gauntlet disappeared into the man's chest deep enough to reach his elbow. Mercilessly ripping it out as the man dropped stone dead at his feet, he turned back to face her again, "I am _not_ a slave."

Only then was she aware of the fact that her mouth was hanging open. Perhaps she should have been terrified by the display, but instead, she was utterly fascinated, and for the third time in the space of only a few moments, her words completely abandoned her, "Wha- ... How- ..."

"Are you _speechless_?" Varric questioned wryly from his position at her right side, "Mark this day on the calendar!"

"I apologize." The elf's gravelly baritone cut in before she could reply, "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so... numerous."

When it became apparent that she was still searching for words, Bethany coughed behind her, and Hawke _finally_ found her voice again, shaking the surprise from her head and forcing herself to concentrate on the situation before her, "S-slavers. Right." She rose a hand to her forehead, cursing her entirely _eloquent_ response before managing to piece together a somewhat more reputable reply, "Those men were after you, I take it?"

"Correct." He stared at her inquisitively, "You are Hawke, yes?"

Attempting to regain her composure (and her dignity), she folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to look at least a little intimidating, and deserving of her apparent reputation, "Who's asking?"

"My name is Fenris." He explained, "These men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister's lost property, namely myself."

Hawke couldn't claim to have much experience with slaves, but the picture that came to mind when she thought of the word _slave_ was certainly not this white-haired elf, who was strangely polite and articulate, and looked for all the world like he could tear a man in two with his bare hands. The idea that he had been a slave was a reality she found hard to believe, and yet she found herself believing it just the same.

"They were trying to lure me into the open." He was saying, "Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."

Hawke furrowed her brow, "Everything Anso said was a lie, then?"

"Not everything. Your employer was simply not who you believed."

She shook her head, her hand raising to her chin as an eyebrow cocked halfway up her forehead, "Still, that sounds like a lot of effort to find one slave."

"It is." He responded simply.

She eyed the intricate white lines crawling up his arms and neck, and gestured to them vaguely, "Hm. Does this have something to do with those markings?"

"Yes." He responded, and his voice trembled with the sound of a light almost-chuckle as he extended his arms out before him, "I imagine I must look strange to you."

Hawke immediately thought of a few much more _appropriate_ words to describe the way he looked, and then mentally slapped herself for getting distracted, as he continued, his voice and eyes darkening markedly, laced with an unspoken pain she couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them I would still be a slave."

She shrugged, then realized immediately how rude that must have seemed after what he'd just said, so she attempted to reconcile before he could say anything, "Well, I guess Anso's job did seem a little _too_ easy. The men in the house weren't exactly _intelligent_ in their battle plan, and the one trap they left was simply atrocious."

If he was offended, he didn't show it, "Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry. I have become too accustomed to hiding."

"Well, I'm happy I helped." Her mouth took on a wry tilt, "I'm certainly not going to miss a few dead slavers."

He broke eye-contact with her, but she briefly noticed—shame?—revealed through his gaze before it fell to his bare feet. As her eyes followed his downward, she realized that the markings marred even the tops of his feet and extended down the lengths of his toes. What—or who—exactly could have done that to him?

"I have met few in my travels who have sought anything more than personal gain."

Hawke felt her heart sink at that which she knew was truth. Idealism was hard to come by, nowadays, especially after working under Meeran for a year in the Red Iron. She'd seen many of the best and worst, and too often, it was the best who'd received the short end of the stick at the hands of the worst.

Before she really had a chance to fathom it, she was following him up the stairs out of the Alienage, and past the gates of Lowtown towards Hightown where his former master was apparently staying in some mansion. Not that she cared, really. She wouldn't mind wiping a few more slavers off the face of the earth, and when she said as much, he gave her a little side-smile that caused her heart to skip a beat.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Should I add another part to this? It could stop here, I think, or it could extend into the fight through the mansion and the ensuing conversation about Bethany being a mage in a second part. I don't know how long that one would be though. It would probably be shorter, but that could quite possibly change. These things have a habit of writing themselves, I mean, and even this one ended up way longer than intended.

I am unsure, so I'll leave it up to you guys to decide.


	14. Wolf Hunt: Part 2

_Author's Note:_

Well, the people have spoken, and so has my muse. I do have another post-game fic planned in the near future (that may or may not feature some Fenris-daddy-prep xD), so keep your eyes peeled for that. For now, here's part 2 of the _Bait and Switch_ quest.

Also, it's pretty late and I have the stomach flu. So it may not be up to par with what I've written in the past. Feel free to nag. I can always use some constructive criticism, I'm sure.

Enjoy,

- i.I

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Dragon Age II. But it's BioWare's._

* * *

**Wolf Hunt  
Part Two: **Blighted Tevinter Bastard

The fire tore through the first onslaught of shades and Fenris felt his eyes narrow, seeing the young dark-haired girl in his peripherals, brandishing a wicked-looking staff from behind Hawke, who spent the majority of time fending off the enemies who closed in on the younger girl.

Yet, while the blood began to boil in his veins, it was still Hawke who managed to catch his eye and curiosity. She fought with the style of a rogue, moving with incredible speed and agility, striking at foes when they least expected it, often getting a lethal blow with the first hit of her two menacingly sharp daggers. She was fascinating in the heat of battle, incredibly agile and fast, and he would never have expected it from the small woman. Unable to stop himself, he repeatedly snagged glances at her throughout the duration of the battle, and was increasingly impressed by what he saw.

The other rogue woman fought in much the same style, of course. She was graceful, but her movements were somewhat exaggerated, and her expression was filled with complete joy, hearty laughter following her around the battlefield. Hawke's face, however, was kept calmly determined and collected. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of a feral grin pulling the side of her mouth as she rounded a particularly tough opponent, in which he noticed a little of the levity he'd seen earlier in the Alienage from her. It was unexpected from a mercenary of her apparent reputation at the time, yet as he watched her fight, the more believable it seemed to be.

While the two rogues fought in similar styles, the differences were clear. It was as if the scanty woman was requesting attention, while Hawke seemed to _command _it with the air of a natural-born leader. He wasn't entirely certain how he felt about that. Her demeanour was peculiar, that much was certain.

Regardless, she was a quick and graceful terror, seeming to slip out of her enemies' grasp as if she was intangible. Though he knew that was not the case (he was sort of an expert in that department), it was... admirable.

The search continued, and the most infuriating part of the night (aside from Danarius nowhere to be found) was the fact that he'd left his back unprotected while three shades approached him from the front. The mage was the one who saved him. He felt the temperature drop and a shriek came from directly behind him. Once he'd taken care of the enemies before him with one wide swipe of his massive sword, he whirled only to see another shade impaled on a set of sharp icicles protruding unnaturally from the mansion's floor.

He simply stared at the girl, torn between offering her a nod of thanks or his customary scowl of disapproval for having been saved by a _mage_, of all things.

"Gone." Fenris' shoulders fell with a sigh, muttering a few choice words in Arcanum under his breath when the battle finally ended. _That blighted Tevinter bastard._

Hawke was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He was blathering on and she was watching him and he was finding it hard to concentrate with his anger at losing Danarius and being saved by a mage, and the unfamiliar sensation Hawke's emerald eyes boring into his caused to churn in his belly, and Maker _damn_ her sympathy of a situation she couldn't even begin to understand.

"I... need some air."

They inevitably followed him outside, purses jingling with the fruits of their labour from the night, stopping when they lay eyes on his form, leaning uneasily up against the mansion. Hawke looked at him with that same expression from earlier, and he felt the anger surge as his gaze swept past her to meet with the dark-haired mage standing behind her before returning to Hawke again, "You harbour a viper in your midst. It will turn on you and strike when you least expect. That is in its nature."

The transition from empathy to curiosity to cold anger was nearly tangible as he watched her face darken to a scowl, and her eyes narrow to slits as her arms crossed over her chest, "You do realize this is my _sister_ you're talking about, right?" She spat, the curiosity and sympathy gone now, "She's stronger than you think, and she doesn't have to prove anything to you."

"You tell him, Sis." The mage interjected.

For some reason that escaped him at the time, Fenris found himself wanting to amend the offence he'd caused the leader of the small band, and remove the dark scowl marring her admittedly attractive features, and so he held out his hands in supplication, "I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions." He looked pointedly at her sister here, before turning back to Hawke again, "But even the best-intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict on others."

"No one's stopping you from moving on, you know." The younger sister said, planting her hand on her hip.

"You have got to be kidding me." Hawke muttered under her breath, unaware that he could still hear her. Or perhaps she was aware, and just didn't care. Her voice rose back to its normal volume as she took a step toward him, pointing a finger at his chest accusingly, "She just saved your ass back there, and now you're criticizing her?"

Again, that odd new desire to remedy the offence he'd caused controlled his actions, "I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth."

"Could've fooled me."

"I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt." He said, letting out a sigh and pulling a pouch of coin from his belt, holding it out for her to take, "Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised. Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it."

"Should I be worried about my companions in your presence?" She asked, casting him a side-long glance as she stepped up and cautiously took the pouch from his outstretched hand. He was careful to drop it into her palm to avoid her touch.

"I will watch them carefully, if we travel together. I can promise no more."

They spoke more, and her anger abated, if only slightly. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, she had ended up flirting with him, though the look on her face when the words left her mouth was as if she couldn't believe she'd just said that out loud. The way her companions looked at her suggested they were thinking along much the same lines. Her sister was boring a hole into the back of her skull with the intensity of her stare. He chuckled. Coughed. Awkwardly. Before he knew it, he found himself agreeing to help her with an expedition she was planning and voluntarily signing away his free time for Maker knew how long.

Though most of her companions knew her as Hawke, she turned her gaze back to him over her shoulder as she strode purposefully out of Hightown with her comrades, "It's Daedra, by the way."

Like the rest of her compatriots, he would end up calling her by her surname for years to come. Although he never could deny to himself that it was her given name he was unable to forget after hearing it that first time. Nor would he forget those emerald eyes that seemed to dig into his very soul as they met his own, or the way her left cheek dimpled with that quirky side-smile that pulled the corner of her mouth.

Somehow, he knew he would be seeing Daedra Hawke again soon, and oddly, he wasn't put off by the idea. She was an unlikely leader. That much was certain, with her easy humour and crooked smile, and the way her levity swiftly descended into cold protective fury in the face of her sister being threatened or insulted.

And yet people were drawn to her, and followed her. She didn't command attention because she wanted it. In fact, it seemed as if she generally shied away from the spotlight altogether. She wasn't a leader because it was what she strived to be. Rather, she was a leader because she just... _was._

* * *

_Author's Note:_

I always felt like Fenris' attraction to Hawke would be gradual, over time. Too many fics have him being immediately be _struck_ by her beauty and unable to remove her from his mind. I doubt it would be anything as romantic and fairytale-ish as that. Sure, I think he'd admit to himself that she's attractive, but I doubt it would be any more than that for the first few years of their relationship, despite my Hawke's immediate and obvious attraction to him. At first, I think he's more drawn to her out of curiosity and a sense of duty than anything. This was my attempt to describe that.


	15. Surprise: Part 2

_Author's Note:_

Thanks to all my watchers/fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers, etc. You're the best. :)

Phew! It has certainly been a while, hasn't it? My apologies. This one is a continuation of chapter 12. I was unsure when I wrote that chapter, if I wanted to continue, or leave it at that. But during the slow hours of my job in which I had nothing to do and no customers, I'd find myself writing little snippets of this short on receipt paper. Despite all that, however, writer's block still somehow managed to catch up with me, and I couldn't get this out by Father's Day, like I wanted to.

Oh well. Enjoy a little Fenris-Daddy-Prep, and another pleasant (but much less terrifying) surprise for Hawke.

-i.I

_Disclaimer: It's BioWare's._

_**P.S.**_ _The inspiration for the ending scene comes from a piece of art I saw on deviantART, in which Fenris is smiling wide (with teeth!) while looking at his newborn child, with fem!Hawke looking on. It really is a gorgeous piece of art, but I lost track of it, and for the life of me, I can't seem to find it anymore. If you find it, please link me to it, so I can give the artist the credit s/he's due._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-Game, some time after Hawke and Fenris' return to Ferelden.

* * *

**Surprise  
Part Two: **Moments

Hawke was into her third month of conception by the time Fenris asked her to marry him. Well, technically, it wasn't really a question, but more of a demand. There was no romantic build-up, no meaningful gazes or long walks along the beach hand-in-hand. In fact, they were in the middle of a heated argument over something completely stupid. Perhaps he just wanted to silence her and end the argument that had her hormones raging and his temper flaring. Or maybe the heated emotions brought it out of him (Hawke had a knack for _bringing things out of him_). Either way, out of nowhere, he found himself saying, "Marry me, Daedra."

Utter silence descended on the two of them, and she did nothing but stare at him incredulously. Neither had any idea where it came from, and just like that, the argument was forgotten as she muttered a careful, "... What?" unsure if she'd heard him correctly.

He blinked. Had he really just said that? Yes, he had. But he didn't regret it now that it was out there, hanging over them as she could only stare in completely stunned silence.

And he didn't want to take it back either. The fact hit him that his desire was true, and that it had been for years. Why did he wait so long?

It must have occurred to her after a moment that he was still waiting for an answer because he watched her shake her head, as if clearing a cloud from her mind. He noticed her eyes brimming with tears, and her hand rose absentmindedly to her belly, which was only slightly beginning to show, "Please, don't toy with my emotions, Fenris. Not now."

"Marry me." He said, stronger this time. Deeper. Certain.

"Fenris... before I give you my answer, I need to know." Her face fell for a moment before she looked up again and locked her gaze onto his, "Are you asking because you want to marry me? Or, are you asking because I'm pregnant, and you feel obligated to marry me by some devotion to the Chantry? I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. While marriage would be welcome, I don't _need_ it to be perfectly happy with you. I'm quite content with the way things are."

Fenris approached her, suddenly never more certain about anything in his life, took her hand in his own, and placed his other over the one cradling the slight swell of her abdomen, "I _want_ to marry you. I _want_ the whole of Thedas to know that you, Daedra Hawke, Champion and former Viscountess of Kirkwall, are _my_ wife. Devoted to _me—_an ex-slave from Tevinter, and an _elf._ I want them all to know that you are _mine._" His voice took on a lower, possessive growl here, and he delighted in the way he felt her shiver in response and the spark that alighted in her eyes before he allowed his voice to soften, lifting their joined hands to his chest, "And, that _I,_ Champion Hawke, am _yours_. Devoted only to you_—_and our child—for all eternity."

"Oh, Maker. So much for fading back into obscurity." He heard the tremble in her whispered voice that he felt was not only caused by the emotion he saw through the tears in her eyes, but by something else altogether. A light breath of laughter escaped her lips before she removed her hand from his own and it splayed flat against his chest as it was often wont to do, sending a pleasant shock down to his toes and back. Then, he watched, enraptured, as her rarest, most beautiful smile—the genuinely happy, non-sarcastic smile—graced her features while he pulled her close, "Then my answer is yes. Of course I'll marry you."

It was a just matter of days before the wedding took place. It was a very understated affair, considering, between just the two of them and the local Chantry mother, who was more than happy to conduct the ceremony. Fenris wore his usual garb, minus the metal of his gloves and breastplate, and Hawke was in a simple white tunic, with a loose corset to allow room for her slightly bulging stomach, and dark leggings. Not even her own wedding would get her in a dress—her mother had to have been rolling over in her grave. But her deep red hair had been pinned in a messy—yet stylish—way, high on the back of her head, with a few curled ringlets framing her face. Fenris thought, not for the first time that day, that she was ravishing in her simplicity, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

The next six months proved to be the slowest, most anxious, most _terrifying_ six months of Fenris' life. If there was anything challenging enough to test the strength of their relationship, it was pregnancy. On her good days, Hawke was completely pleasant to be around, and in her typical good humour. Other times, she'd threatened to take his head off if he so much as _looked_ at her the wrong way. Twice now, she'd forced him out of bed at an obscene hour of the night to feed her craving for some unheard-of combination of what barely passed as food, and twice, she'd been too sick to eat it once he placed it in front of her.

Late in her eighth month, he found her in the garden, hacking way at the training dummy, with tears streaming down her face. Startled, he stopped her, gently took the daggers from her hands, and led her back into the house.

Had it have been anyone but Hawke, he would have simply brushed it off. But the last time she did it (though there were no ill effects), the healer, Maddie, had somehow changed from the kindly, maternal woman, to a vicious force of discipline, capable of making even Fenris feel two inches tall with just a glance. She erupted into a sermon on the importance of protecting Hawke's already-fragile womb, and having her take it easy for the remainder of the pregnancy. Hawke had not been inclined to approach the training dummy since.

Until now, that is.

"I'm sorry, Fenris." Hawke said once he sat her down in the armchair beside the fireplace, and it was a few moments before she said anything else, "Sometimes I just hate being pregnant."

He fixated her with a stare, just curious, and sensing she had more to say, so he simply did what he was best at, and listened.

"I mean, I'm sick every morning. I love one food one day, and the next I can't even _look_ at it without my stomach turning. My back constantly aches. I'm so bloody _moody_ that I annoy _myself_. I'm so _bored_ it's a wonder why I haven't taken to cliff-diving for some way to entertain myself." Her face fell, and he had a feeling she was getting to the root of the problem when she took a deep breath and her brow furrowed, "I'm... finding it very difficult to feel attractive."

Lifting a hand to her cheek from his position on the floor as he knelt before her, he brushed the apple of her cheek with his thumb, "You are having a bad day."

This elicited a mirthless chuckle, "Oh yeah? What tipped you off?"

He lifted his other hand to cradle her face and coax her gaze back to him, pouring as much conviction as possible into his words, "You're beautiful."

"Well, I'm glad one of us thinks so." Her hand lifted to cover his own upon her face, and she leaned into his touch as he shook his head in disagreement with her self-deprecation, "You've been so wonderful throughout these last few months. What did I do to deserve you?"

He let out a quick huff of almost-laughter, "You deserve better."

She shook her head, "I would find no better man if I'd searched across the whole of Thedas. If I hadn't met you, I'd have been married to some pompous ass of a noble who cared more about my money than me." Her mouth took on its familiar wry tilt, "Or worse, I could have been with Anders, whose first love was always the _mages_ and their_ plight_."

He felt his lip curl into a sneer, "Do not speak of that abomination in our home. Not only was he harbouring a demon inside him, but he desired to for you to join him in his inevitable downfall. He deserved the end he received."

Her finger was suddenly at his lips, silencing him, that familiar clouding in her eyes whenever she recalled the unpleasantness of that final terrible battle that forever changed and scarred her, "Do not speak ill of him. Misguided and hypocritical though he was, he was a good man, with a good heart, and one of my dearest friends. He may have deserved to die for what he did, but that is not a memory I particularly enjoy remembering."

Silence descended for a moment, and she shook her head as she continued, almost in disbelief, "So many lives lost. And for what? A freedom for a people who will never truly be free? They may have some semblance of freedom now, but no matter where they go, no matter what they do, the vast majority of people will still see mages as dangerous, and as a gateway for demons to enter our world. They will always be regarded with fear for what they are, and what they represent. I saw it in the faces of every neighbour and friend once they found out what Father and Bethany truly were. People we'd known for years. People we _trusted_. I just... I wish it all could have ended differently."

_I wish I didn't have to kill him,_ was the thought Fenris knew full well she couldn't put a voice to.

"He brought it on himself." Fenris muttered, softness creeping back into his voice, despite the disdain he couldn't help but feel for the abomination that nearly cost them their lives, "You gave him the choice to run, and he threw it back in your face."

"Even so, I prefer to remember him for the man he _was_, not for the man he became."

"You brought him up." He responded, an attempt to rekindle the flame that was her levity as a smirk took hold of his mouth.

"I suppose that's true." She conceded with a chuckle, and then let out a sigh, "Sometimes I just wish he could have been here for the baby's birth. Sometimes I wish it would be him delivering the baby, rather than Maddie."

"Now that is a wish I do not share, I'm afraid. I remember the way he looked at you when your back was turned. It took everything in me not to rip out his heart when he looked at you like that."

Her head tilted to the side, "You really were jealous of him, weren't you?" She smiled, "You really had no need to be. I was well aware of Anders' feelings for me, and he was well aware of the fact that they were not returned. From the moment you first opened your mouth after we killed those slave hunters, my heart was yours." Her smile turned sideways, "Sure, I was less-than-pleased with the fact that I'd been lied to, and then you called my baby sister a viper, but _damn_ did it sound sexy coming from you."

"Ah, and the truth is finally revealed. You only married me for my voice."

"It seems I've been discovered." She replied with mirth in her eyes, as a shrug took hold of her shoulders, "Not to worry. So long as you don't come down with a bad case of laryngitis, I'll be sticking around."

"How comforting."

"You know me – I aim to please."

* * *

When the baby came just a few weeks later, and he held that tiny creature in his arms, there was no explanation for the strange mix of fear and wonder that coursed through him. He found himself lightly tracing the delicate features of his daughter – the full lips, elegant nose, and rounded ears – all reminiscent of her human mother (it was only later he would discover that his daughter's pale blue eyes would change to match his own moss green ones, rather than the deep emerald of Hawke's).

"I may need to kill every boy in Thedas." He muttered thoughtfully.

Hawke's answering chuckle made him realize after a moment, with no small degree of surprise, that her hand was resting on his forearm and he hadn't even noticed. He tore his gaze away from the sleeping infant in his arms to look at his wife. Her color had been drained from exhaustion, and her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat, but in that moment, he was certain she had never looked more beautiful. She was positively glowing, staring at him with a smile playing at her lips, and her eyes brimming with tears.

Curious, he allowed a brow to rise up into his hairline, "What?"

She shook her head, "I have never seen you smile like that before."

His brow furrowed, "Like what?" And he turned back to look down at the bundle in his arms, feeling his lips pull into a grin.

He watched her smile turn wry out of his peripherals. "Like that," she responded simply.

A tiny hand escaped the bundle of blankets and closed itself around his thumb. He could do nothing but stare, enraptured, as if it was the first and only time he'd bear witness to such a perfect embodiment of innocence, and he wondered if it was possible to ever feel more joy than in that very moment.

"I do hope you'll smile like that more often."

If he could look on the face of this child every day for the rest of his life, he imagined that Hawke just might get her wish.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Many of the little moments in this short come from personal experience. Not necessarily mine, mind you, but my parents'. Countless times, I've heard the story of my mom forcing my dad out of bed at 3 in the morning while she was pregnant to get her some Mary Browns' chicken, and by the time he put it in front of her, the smell turned her stomach. Hehehe.


	16. Old Faces, New Places

_Author's Note: _

And, I'm back again! So sorry for the increasing breaks between chapters! Many ideas churning, but all of them have been ending up with writer's block. :(

I managed to plough through this one though, writing it on a slow day at work, after the idea hit me while I was writing for another chapter of this story.

As always, a HUGE WHOPPING THANK YOU to all of my readers/fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers, etc. You make meh suuuu heppeh. :)

_Disclaimer: It's all BioWare's._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-Game, before the events of chapter 12, while Hawke and Fenris are still traveling across Thedas.

* * *

**Old Faces, New Places**

"I _**must**_ be going crazy."

"Hmm?" Fenris muttered.

They had just set foot into the local tavern, exploring the incredible Antiva City in the midst of their constant travels across Thedas. While she'd been to many different places since her time in Kirkwall, it was the word of a certain elven assassin she'd met once before that had her thinking of Antiva in the first place. Fenris wasn't pleased when she brought it up, at first, with the way she'd shamelessly flirted with the Antivan when they met, but she couldn't resist making Fenris a little jealous, mostly because she delighted in the possessiveness he showed towards her when he threatened Zevran.

She made it up to him later that night, though, showing him just how much he meant to her, and how devoted she was to _him_ and _him_ _alone_.

She'd discovered quite a few interesting things in this city. For one thing, she'd discovered that all the stories she'd heard of Antivan fishwives were very much true. They were beautiful, and seemingly harmless but one look and Hawke knew that despite their restrictions from combat, they still could be deadly. The ones they'd encountered had addressed her and Fenris with kindness, but there was a lingering intensity behind their eyes, which, all too often, roved over her exotic elven lover, tracing his elegant white tattoos, and she fought back a possessive streak of her own. It would not do to stab someone in a crowded street. Especially not in Antiva, where civility was the norm in public, and murders took place behind closed doors.

She'd also discovered that the leather she wore smelled quite tame compared to Antivan leather. The musky scent lingered all over the city like a cloud. When she said as much to Fenris, he'd responded with the observation that it was better than the smell of wet mabari, and despite her love for her mabari and her home country, she had to concede to that.

Said mabari had trotted faithfully nearby, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he bounded in and out of alleyways in excitement.

She _never _thought, however, that she'd see a familiar face here, of all places. Especially not the face of a certain traitorous Rivaini pirate queen. But, there she was, yelling obscenities at the bartender, half-drunk, just as Hawke remembered her.

Fenris caught on, probably due to Isabela's boisterous laughter reverberating off the walls, and nudged her shoulder gently, "Do you wish to leave?"

Hawke let out an unladylike snort, "Are you kidding? I've spent the last eight years wondering where that woman has been and wanting to rip her hair out for all the trouble she caused for Kirkwall, and for me personally. I can't _wait_ to see where this goes."

She clasped her hands together in anticipation as she made her way over to the pirate, mentally rehearsing the regalia she'd collected over the years of belittling, scathing, guilt-tripping remarks.

"I'm telling you, Herb. She did it! She eradicated an entire contingent of Tal-Vashoth, _and_ earned the Arishok's respect!"

_Oh, Maker, what a perfect opening._

"No thanks to a certain pirate queen," Hawke muttered as she stepped up behind her, her arms folding across her chest, "who ran off when we needed her most, with the one thing that would have ended it all, and saved us a hell of a lot of pointless bloodshed."

The look of surprise on Isabela's face when she turned to face her was so immensely satisfying, Hawke even thought of just turning around and walking away, leaving her stunned and blinking in silence. But this opportunity was one she'd been wanting for years, she wasn't about to just _walk away_.

"Hawke!"

"Did you know that when you left, I had to agree to a duel with the Arishok in order to get them to leave? You're lucky he didn't kill me, because I would have made it my personal goal to haunt you in the Fade." She shrugged, fake nonchalance covering her immeasurable rage, "At least I walked away, I suppose. He never got past the stairs."

Fenris decided to get in on the guilt-trip at that point, leaning over towards Hawke, "Well, technically, I carried you away. You weren't even conscious after being impaled on his blade."

"Details, details!" Hawke made a dismissive gesture before settling her hand on her abdomen, "Left one hell of an unsightly scar, though. Who's to say what would have happened, had they what they came for in the first place? But.. where was that again? Oh, right, in the hands of a trai—"

"Alright, alright! I get it, okay?" Isabela interrupted their musings, "I abandoned you!"

"You're damn right you did. We had to clean up _your_ mess, while you took off to Maker-knows-where, with the _one_ thing that could have ended it all without any bloodshed!" Hawke exclaimed, her anger finally pushing through to the surface, "I hope Castillion enjoyed his _relic_ for however long he had it before he sold it."

She paced a couple of steps before turning away from the woman, running a hand through her hair, "You were my _friend_, Isabela, and I trusted you."

"You should have known better than to trust a pirate, Hawke." Fenris muttered, and she nodded solemnly.

"He's right." The pirate agreed, "You shouldn't have trusted me. But, honestly, I can't believe you've spent all this time looking for me to tell me all this."

Hawke's eyebrow cocked up into her hairline for a moment, before she burst out into laughter and whirled back around to face the Rivaini, "You really think that's why I came to Antiva? Because I was looking for _you_? Oh, _get over yourself_, Isabela. Sure, I felt hurt, betrayed, and utterly _livid_ with you after your sudden departure, but you really think that's something I would be dwelling on, eight years later? I'm happy! Despite everything that happened while I was in Kirkwall, I am truly happy. I'm in a devoted relationship with the man I love and would give my _life_ for, and we have seen the world together. I've moved on, Isabela. Which is more than what you've seemed to do, still telling stories about the people you betrayed, all for some _damn_ relic!"

"Getting that relic was the only way to get Castillion off my back, and make sure I stayed alive!" Isabela took a step up to her, eyes narrowed, and still as wild as ever, but now, they were surrounded by dark circles, and her face looked slightly gaunter than Hawke remembered. For a woman who took such pride in her appearance, it seemed so out of character to see her as such.

"_We_ could have helped you do that!" Hawke countered, gesturing wildly in her heated emotions, "With everything we'd done over the years, you honestly think we wouldn't help you get Castillion off your back, with or with_out_ the relic?"

"I couldn't drag you any further into my problems."

"Oh, stop making excuses!" Hawke shouted, her hands fisting at her temples, her eyes shut tight in frustration, "You _know_ we would have helped you without a second thought! You just didn't want to trust anybody! You didn't want to have to rely on someone to offer you a helping hand, because you're afraid of getting too close!"

The pirate simply stared at her, her eyes wide, and her mouth pinned shut, while Hawke gave herself a mental pat on the back. _Nice job, Daedra. You hit the nail on the head with that one._

Isabela's lip curled, and her arms folded under her breasts while she shifted her weight to one leg, "Well we can't all be the perfect _bloody_ embodiment of Andraste Herself."

Heat flared up Hawke's neck, and she ground her teeth, her face a mask of rage, "People _**died**_, Isabela! Innocent people _lost _their _lives_ because of your _**selfishness**_! Did you think that wouldn't eventually catch up with you?"

The pirate looked away for a moment with a slight shrug, "Well, I was sort-of hoping it would all just... go away, really."

Hawke was virtually spitting fire now, and she growled, yanking her shirt up over her abdomen, "Look at this _**fucking**_ scar, Isabela!"

The woman's lips parted in surprise, and she stared at the pale, jagged discoloration marring Hawke's midsection with wide amber eyes.

"Do you think this is just going to _go away_? I have a permanent reminder of that night. I remember the moment you took off and betrayed me. I remember the empty look on Viscount Dumar's face as his _head_ bounced past my feet. I remember the fear I saw in all the faces of the citizens in the Keep. I remember the look of cold ferocity I saw in the Arishok's eyes as he drove his longsword into my stomach and lifted me off the ground. I remember it all, in _perfect _clarity, because _**I **_was _**there**_!"

The familiar hand on her shoulder reminded her of where they were, and she looked back at Fenris, who just stared at her with that quiet, concerned intensity she loved about him. She looked around the room, at the eyes on her and the audience they'd gained, and the silence was absolutely deafening. The only sound was the squeaking of a rag the bartender was using to wipe a mug clean, pretending not to listen. She took a breath and looked back at the pirate again, who let out a sigh with a helpless shrug of her shoulders, "What do you want me to say, Hawke? I know it won't change anything, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Finally, Hawke's ire dissipated slightly as she let out a sigh, and her voice softened, "I don't want you to say anything. I just wanted you to shut up and listen, so you'd know exactly what it was you did that night. It's nice to hear you apologize in person, but I can't ever forgive you. The people who died that night deserve better than that.

"That guilt that's eating away at you, right now?" She said, turning away from her and starting out of the tavern with Fenris' hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, "You have to live with that guilt. It will burn you up from the inside out, and unless you come to terms with it, unless you accept that it was your fault and move on, you will never get away from it."

She stopped in the doorway for a moment before continuing on with Fenris squeezing her shoulder affectionately, "You can't change the past, Isabela. But you can use it to shape your future."

"Hawke, wait."

Isabela had taken a couple of steps towards her when she turned, but the Rivaini couldn't make eye-contact when she looked at her.

"I'll... make it up to you. Somehow." She muttered, and when the pirate looked up, her eyes were uncharacteristically earnest, "I promise."

It was several seconds before Hawke responded, and she simply stared at the woman, breathing steadily, her expression unreadable. Finally, she took a deep breath and let it out heavily, a tiny, almost unnoticeable quirk of her lips the only indication that things had ended on a good note, "Ask our trusty dwarf where to find me."

Isabela nodded silently at Hawke's retreating back.

"Didn't you once tell me that your injury when you battled the Arishok was of your own doing?" Fenris asked after her mabari, Alden, joined them once they were well away from the tavern, on their way to find another place to accommodate the three of them for the night.

"Yes, and it was, regardless of what you think." She looked up at him, "I know you still blame yourself, sometimes."

"But you just convinced Isabela that the blame was hers." Fenris' brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as he regarded her.

She simply shrugged, "I lied." She said matter-of-factly.

His gaze became incredulous, one dark eyebrow rising up to become hidden behind his white fringe, "_You_ lied? You've _never_ been one for deception."

"Well, it worked, didn't it? It certainly helped her realize just what she'd done when she left us that night."

"I suppose I cannot argue with you there." His mouth turned wry as he shrugged slightly, "But then again, arguing with you is futile."

Her eyes narrowed in a mock-glare, before her lips pursed in playfulness, the discomfort of the confrontation with Isabela swiftly fading away with its closure of the past, "Ah, you love it."

His arm settled around her waist as he pulled her close to his side while they walked, his lips kissing her temple in a rare show of public affection, "I do."

"See?" She asked brightly, looking up at him as his eyes clouded in confusion again.

"See what?"

Her lips pulled into that wide crooked grin as she lifted herself up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, "I told you Antiva was a good idea."


	17. Coping

_Author's Note:_

My usual thanks to all my fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers/readers, etc. It continuously amazes me and brightens my day to know people are reading—and liking!—my writing. :)

Here, we have a ficlet that takes place in the dead space between Acts I and II. I wanted to show a little of my Hawke's coping mechanisms in dealing with Bethany's death. You'll find no angst here, however. Well, alright. Maybe a little. But I imagine my Hawke being far too independent to rely entirely on someone else to help her get through her sister's death. Like Aveline, I imagine she got through the bulk of it on her own, because she knew what she wanted, and what she needed, and she didn't need anyone else to get it for her. This takes place near the end of her coping period, anyway.

Also, I find I'm writing from Fenris' perspective more and more lately. Huh.

Hope you enjoy. :)

-i.I

* * *

**Time Frame:** Between Acts I and II – A few months after the Expedition. You be the judge.

* * *

**Coping**

He began to miss her shadow darkening his doorway.

He'd become accustomed to her barging into his borrowed mansion nearly every night, coaxing him into talking about himself without even really asking. It seemed odd not to hear her quiet footsteps approaching the stairs and her soft knocks on the doorframe to his study, and he kept expecting to hear them. She hadn't come to see him at all since the Deep Roads. Not that she went to see anyone, really.

He eventually received word that she and her mother had finally secured their ancestral estate, but he still never saw her, and when he finally asked the others, they said they hadn't seen much of her either.

Sometimes, in the stillness of night, through the ruined ceilings of his mansion, he could swear he almost heard her. Cries of overwhelming grief and sorrow sweeping through the walls of Hightown like some despondent melody, turning saddened eyes and ears toward the young Hawke's upper estate window.

And thus, she'd become the woman who'd gained everything she could have ever wanted, but lost the one thing she truly _valued_ in the process. Her baby sister. That little ray of Sunshine (as Varric so aptly nicknamed her) whose optimism was brought on not by a keen ability to lighten the mood with humour (as it was with her older sister), but by a natural ability to see the good in people, and whose kind heart opened to anyone receptive enough to it. She'd even won Fenris over, in the end, and he held nothing but the utmost respect for her, a _mage_ of all things.

If there was anyone who never deserved to go in such a horrific way, it was Bethany Hawke, but he'd seen enough in Tevinter to know that fate was never kind to those who deserved it most.

Hawke had begun to learn that sad truth during her years in the Red Iron, she said. But, he had a feeling she knew it now, better than ever before.

She blamed herself, though she never said as much, and if she had, it hadn't been to him. But he knew her far better than he let on. It was her decision to bring her sister into the Deep Roads, and though no one had any idea what was to happen, he could see the guilt in Hawke's eyes as she hovered over her sister's dying body clear as day. No one would convince her otherwise, he knew. She would allow no one else to shoulder the burden of her sister's death. She would accept it regardless of what others would tell her. And she would move on, because that's just what Hawke did. She left nothing up in the air. She would grieve, she would carry the weight of penitence until she died and then she would lay it at Bethany's feet herself, dropping to her knees and begging for her sister's forgiveness in the Fade.

"You know, if you make that sword any sharper, there won't be any blade left to sharpen."

The whetstone halted in his hands, and he tilted his head back over his shoulder without seeing her. He knew she was there, though. Her soft, steady breaths and the scent of her leather armour alerted him to her presence, albeit far later than usual, thanks to his deep thoughts. He had learned to keep his ears open for the lady rogue's almost-nightly approach, but in the time since her constant visits, he'd gotten rusty, he supposed. Maker help him if Danarius ever came after him while he was so deep in his reverie.

"Hawke."

He heard her soft booted footfalls approaching his chair by the fireplace, stopping just short, "Hello, Fenris." Her leathers creaked, and he pictured her folding her arms across her chest—which was exactly what she did, he realized when he finally looked back at her. Her eyes were bright and lively, her color completely natural, and she looked to anyone sparing her a glance as if she was finally ready to get back to her adventures.

He wasn't convinced.

He gestured to the other chair across from him as he stood and set his sword over against the wall, "Have a seat."

She simply shook her head and set to pacing about the room like the first time she'd visited him, studying the things he kept around, things he couldn't be bothered to burn. She stopped along a row of books set on the mantle – the only things he couldn't _bring_ himself to burn, her hand thoughtfully placed against her chin, her eyes scouring the fine cursive lettering spreading down the spines of each.

He watched her for a moment as she pulled one of them from the shelf and opened it to somewhere in the middle, her brows furrowing in consternation as she read the words of one such book, obviously displeased at the contents (he decided it must have been one of Danarius' books containing blood rituals—and that he would burn _that_ book the first chance he got). Then, she put it back on the shelf and moved on to another one. This one, she seemed much more pleased with. She pulled back the cover, smiled fondly at it for a moment, before closing it again and holding it up for him to see, "Have you read this one?"

He shook his head, opting for silence, rather than spilling his secret.

"'_The Adventures of the Black Fox'_, by Gaston Gerrault. It was my father's favourite." She explained, smiling to herself, "He always liked the thought of taking from the rich and giving to the poor." She chuckled lightly, "And he loved to stir up trouble."

"Sounds familiar."

Her eyebrows rose, and she held a hand over her heart, "Why, whatever do you mean, Fenris?"

He simply shook his head, a smirk tugging his mouth to the side.

Silence reigned for a moment, before she took a breath and looked down at the cover again, "Do you... mind if I borrow it? We had to leave all our books behind when we fled Lothering. I never got the chance to read it. Father used to tell me stories about the Black Fox when I was a girl, but until he died, I couldn't be bothered to pick up a book, much less read one."

"Not at all." He responded simply, "Keep it if you wish."

"Oh no, I couldn't do that. What if you wanted to read it sometime?" He froze, torn between telling her of his inability to read, or coming up with another aversion tactic. Thankfully, he didn't need to choose, as she answered with, "I'll bring it back when I'm done, okay?" before he had a chance.

He simply nodded, and things fell silent again. As his keen eyes took notice of her arms closing around herself, he knew her coping wasn't complete just yet. Not that he had any idea how to help her, however. But she was stronger than that. Hawke could move on without his help, or anyone else's. She was already well on her way.

He watched as she approached his sword in its scabbard propped up against the wall, and she stared at it for a moment, before turning to face him with a forced smile, "Spar with me?"

Fenris stared at her, slightly taken aback, "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me, elf." She said, lightening her words with a good-natured spark in her eye, "Spar with me."

"Are you... certain that is what you wish?"

Her eyebrow raised up her forehead nearly to her hairline, "Well, aren't you confident."

"That is not what I meant."

She didn't reply. Instead, her gaze fell for a moment before she looked back up and said, "The last time I had a friendly sparring session with someone who used a sword as big as yours was against Carver... and, I don't know, I guess I just need the familiarity." Her mouth pulled briefly to the left in a rueful smile before the mirth returned to her eyes and she added, "Besides, I could use the practice, and how often do you get the chance to practice with a rogue of such calibre as myself?"

Lifting her hand in front of her face, she planted the other on her hip and made a show of casually examining her fingernails.

He answered her with a smirk, "Your modesty is astounding."

She nodded, "That's me; humbly renouncing my many talents with a coy smile and a rosy blush. Now, are you going to spar with me, or not?"

He allowed a light chuckle to escape as he approached his sword and grabbed it from its position against the far wall, "Of course."

* * *

They rounded each other in the atrium of Fenris' mansion, weapons at the ready. They were only five minutes in, and Hawke was already regretting her decision to ask Fenris to spar. He was making her sparring sessions with Carver seem like a walk in the park. Not to mention that fierce, battle-hardened stare he kept giving her was so _damn_ distracting.

_Focus! I just have to get past his defense,_ she thought, strategizing to herself, _but that's the problem! Where does he get such speed, swinging around a sword that huge?_

He blocked yet another of her backstabbing attempts before leaping backwards to give his sword enough room to swing in a wide horizontal arc. She flipped nimbly out of range. Before she had a chance to gather her bearings again, however, he was already on top of her, slamming the broad side of his sword into her chest, knocking her flat on her back, and she felt the air vacate her lungs with an audible _whoosh_.

He flashed her a smug smile as she coughed and caught her breath, glaring up at him from the floor.

"What was that you were saying about your 'calibre'?" He asked, outstretching a gauntleted hand to help her to her feet. She took it, grumbling something about _damned warrior elves_ and _too much bloody agility_, before brushing off her leathers and tossing him a confident wink as she adjusted her stance.

"Oh, I'm just getting started, elf."

He matched her determination with his own, his mouth pulling into a bemused grin, "I would have it no other way, _woman_."


	18. A Sister's Legacy

_Author's Note:_

Ugh. Sorry it's been so long! Writer's block has eaten my soul alive. I've been working on a certain installment for a couple of months now, and it's still not ready!

It's all because much of it is Varric. I find it so difficult to get inside his head!

On the plus side, it's almost done, and if all goes well, I'll post it within the next couple of weeks. However, for now, have another post-game drabble that hit me the other day while I was home from class because of a head cold. Consider it an interlude, of sorts.

As always, my usual THANK YOU to my readers/reviewers/fav-ers/lurkers, etc. Your positive feedback has always been a joy to read, and I love the occasional criticism. I received a couple of Fav notifications about a week ago on this story, and it struck me because it hasn't been updated in a while, and therefore hasn't been visible on the homepage for quite some time. Not sure how you found my story, **Cassiopeja87** and **leaf5942**, but I'm so glad you did. :) Thank you!

Now, I'm off to make some tea to help fight off this cold.

Enjoy,  
- i.I

_Disclaimer: All belongeth to the great BioWare._

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-Game (again), a couple days after Hawke's delivery.

* * *

**A Sister's Legacy**

"Well?" She asked, holding the bundle of blankets close to her breast, glancing up at him for a moment before returning her gaze downward to fondly admire their daughter, "What do you think? Any suggestions?"

They'd been heeding suggestions from everyone else over the last two days. A dozen different names had been thrown around (some of them were actually insults directed at pretty much everyone _but_ the baby) and when it seemed there was an imminent argument brewing, Hawke gave Fenris a pleading look from her bed.

Returning it with a little smirk, he took it upon himself to force the others out of the room so the two of them could discuss their _own_ ideas for a name in private.

"Varric did suggest we name her Bethany, and out of all of them, I think I like that idea the best, but..." she trailed off as he sat down on the bed beside her, leaning over to get a better look at the quietly babbling infant, "I don't know, something's missing..."

Fenris reached over her and ran his thumb gently across his daughter's forehead, before allowing her tiny little fingers to close around a tattooed index finger, "I have a suggestion, in fact." He said, still not removing his eyes from the baby, who stared up at him curiously and brought his finger to her mouth.

"Oh really?" Hawke asked, turning her face towards him with a smile, "Well, let's hear it."

Tearing his gaze from his daughter, he leaned back and looked at his wife, "What about Soles*?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, tilting her head slightly to the right as she regarded the baby, "Soles." She repeated, trying it out. A smile pulled her mouth upwards again before she turned back to him, "I like it. What does it mean?"

"It's Arcanum." He explained looking at her for a moment before returning his gaze to his daughter again, feigning nonchalance, "It means _sunshine_."

Hawke just simply _stared_ at him for a moment, and he looked up at her with a knowing spark in his eye. That genuine smile he so loved rose unbidden to her face and she shifted the infant's weight to one arm before lifting the other to place a palm against his cheek, "Fenris, I love it." She muttered quietly, pulling him in for a kiss, "It's still Bethany, but it's everything that was missing. Not just her nickname, but everything that she _was_ rolled into one word. It's _perfect_."

Their lips met tenderly, emotionally, before finally pulling away. Hawke remembered Bethany's face, as Fenris' arm surrounded her shoulders. Her baby sister's kind, gentle nature. Her unfailing optimism and that ability to see the good in all people, regardless of what they'd done.

They pulled away and looked down at the child, whose mouth opened wide in a yawn, and the two parents chuckled softly as little Soles Hawke embraced an innocent slumber without a care in the world.

"Varric is going to be ecstatic." She muttered matter-of-factly with that crooked grin.

As if on cue, (a little _too _on-cue), the dwarf in question burst in through the door, "I heard my name."

Merrill was at his heels, and Aveline trailed in after a moment, shaking her head at him. When they were greeted by only a roll of Fenris' eyes, and Hawke's bright smile, they expectantly approached the bed.

"Well?" Aveline asked.

Varric reached out his arms, and Hawke carefully passed him the baby, "This is—"

"Little mini-Hawke." The dwarf interrupted her, staring down at his honorary niece.

"... also known as Soles." The Champion muttered.

"Bah, you had to go and make Sunshine's name all... Tevinter-ized."

Hawke narrowed her eyes, "Varric, is there ever a private conversation on which you _don't_ eavesdrop?"

"Where do you think I get all of my best stories?"

"Incorrigible." Aveline replied, sighing in exasperation before glancing at Fenris. There was a different look about him now. That look of pure unconditional love that only came with being a father. The pride and joy in his eyes when he looked at his... well, his pride and joy.

"I wish Donnic were here." She said to him, "He would be so happy to see that look on your face."

Fenris decided not to comment on that, changing the subject instead, "How is Donnic?"

"I imagine he has his hands full keeping the Guard in line while I'm gone..."

Hawke watched the proceedings continue, such joy in her heart at the fact that her companions were together again, engaging in the friendly banter she'd missed so much. But somewhere, deep in her heart, there would always be an empty space she would never be able to fill.

_I miss you, Sister, _Hawke mused internally, closing her eyes with a sigh,_ If we raise this child to be even half the woman you were, then we'll have done our job as parents._

_I wish you were here. _

_I wish she could have known you._

* * *

*Pronounced [so-LESS]

It's actually Latin. :P


	19. Letters

_Author's Note:_

My usual, big THANK YOU goes out to all of my watchers/fav-ers/reviewers/lurkers, etc. You guys put the _AWE_ in _AWESOME_! :D ... /i'msolame

I had an idea for something a little different this time around, and let me tell you, this one has been in the works for a very long time. Ever since I started writing the pregnancy ficlets, and I've gradually added more and more over time. I find it very difficult to get inside Varric's head! Which is weird, because he reminds me so much of myself, sometimes.

I'm really still not happy with it, but I am just so sick of looking at it that I feel like if I don't post it now, I never will.

Also, a HUMONGOUS THANK YOU to **FatHobbitLover **on deviantART for sketching a fanart of Daedra and Fenris! I feel so honoured! Check it out! Do it! It's worth the extra effort of removing those pesky spaces!

http:/ / fathobbitlover .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d4bugsk

-i.I

_Disclaimer: Varric, Hawke, Fenris, and all other characters mentioned belong to BioWare. Just be sure not to tell Fenris.  
_

* * *

**Time Frame: **Post-Game, onward.

* * *

**Letters**

A letter is found in the mail, with nothing but the destination address written on the outside. There is no return address, but anyone who's anyone in the Free Marches would recognize the seal of House Tethras.

* * *

_Hawke,_

_You probably won't be surprised to find out that you left quite an impression back here in the Free Marches. A group of Chantry Seekers were at your estate a few days ago looking for you, and I have to say, I've certainly received more pleasant invitations to talk. Apparently, the mage uprisings are really becoming a problem outside of Ferelden and Kirkwall, thanks to what Blondie did._

_Anyway, she said they needed your help to deal with them (call me crazy, but somehow, I don't think that's all there was to it). I was able to convince her that I didn't know where you were, naturally, but I figured I'd let you know anyway, on the off chance you were in the mood for another adventure._

_Things are good here since you left. Well, as good as can be expected, anyway. The Circle seems calmer since Meredith's fall, and the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter seem to be getting along... well, getting along – which is more than could be said for their predecessors. The new Viscount seems competent enough. Non-discriminatory, just, and the perfect amount of __**stirring the pot. **__He needs to lighten up a bit, in my opinion, but he cares about the city and its people, and won't stand for any foolishness in his office. Aveline thinks he's a wonderful replacement for you. But that's probably because he has no sense of humour. Truth be told, I think she misses you around as the source of her headaches. Daisy's even talking about starting a school for the children in the Alienage. She wants to help them learn about the elves' heritage, and I have to give you credit. She may not have liked you very much, but she damn well respected you enough to take your advice._

_How're things with you and the elf? I'd ask if home-life has made him soft, but judging by the many rumours I keep hearing of the famous Champion of Kirkwall and her white-haired elf companion (the ones I didn't start, anyway) being seen all over Thedas, I get the feeling you two haven't been spending much time at home._

_So much for obscurity, eh?_

_I imagine you've got a few stories of your own to tell, Champion. Can't wait to hear them._

'_Til next time, Hawke  
Varric_

* * *

_Varric,_

_I noticed the date on your letter and nearly had a heart-attack. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you. The rumours are true; Fenris and I have traveled quite a bit, actually. We've just returned from Antiva. He'd been there before during his flight from Danarius, and he showed me around the capital city. Maker, it is incredible, but so damn __**hot**__! I swear I lost ten pounds from all the sweating. Fenris, on the other hand, seemed right at home, damn him._

_I have some stories for you, in fact. There is one, in particular, I think you'll really enjoy, in which I run into a certain Rivaini pirate queen. You can imagine how well __**that**__ went, I'm certain. Perhaps I'll tell you all about it when you come visit us in nine months. _

_Which brings me to my next point; good call on your part concerning the Seekers. Fenris and I are sort-of indisposed at the moment. No more traveling for the next nine months—perhaps more. Not that I'm complaining. Can you believe it, Varric? I'm pregnant! _

_Maker, but I am terrified. Can you picture me as a mother? When other mothers are teaching their child how to sew or darn socks, or cook, I'll be teaching mine how to throw a dagger into a man's eye from a hundred paces. Fenris seems completely in love with the idea, though he's just as terrified (if not more) than I am. And then there's the fact that there is magic in both of our families. What if the child turns out to be a mage? What are we to do then? How in the Fade is Fenris going to react to news like that about his own child?_

_Anyway, it was nice to hear about the others, and that my replacement seems to be doing an adequate job. And I'm so happy that Merrill finally seems to be feeling at home and of use in the Alienage. Keep an eye on her, alright? I know that you already do, but I worry that her naiveté will get her into trouble. I know I made her swear to stay away from blood magic from now on, but I also know she never liked me very much. So, please make sure she doesn't teach those children about "how useful blood magic can be". That's the very __**last **__thing we need._

_It was so great to hear from you again, Varric. When you write back this time, you can count on a timely response. Fenris and I won't be leaving again for several months, at least._

_See you soon,  
Hawke_

_**P.S.**__ Yes, you __**are**__ coming to see the baby when it's born. You all are. Take the money from my Kirkwall stash. Baby Hawke will not be brought into this world without meeting Uncle Varric and Auntie Aveline immediately afterwards. Merrill's also invited, obviously. Something tells me she would find some magical way to physically hurt me from all the way in Kirkwall if I neglected to invite her, anyway. I'm not quite willing to take that chance._

* * *

_Hawke,_

_Oh, so you're pregnant? Well that helps a lot, actually. Can't spend much time traveling if you're carrying around another mini-Hawke. Which is always good for me, because my messengers can actually __**find**__ you now, so my letters reach you on time and I don't have to wait forever for a reply._

_Ha! Rivaini contacted me, actually! Asked me where to find you. So I guess you can anticipate hearing from her within the not-too-distant future. She said she had a rather unfriendly encounter with you, but wouldn't give me any details. I remember thinking it was extremely unlike her not to gossip about it, but I would give my right leg to have been there. It must have been so perfect to see you pay her back for what she put you through. A fight for the ages. I hope there were daggers involved! And, if it was boring, be sure to throw in some... _embellishments _to keep people interested when you do the dramatic retelling. And some mud. And maybe some wrestling. Yeah, that'll definitely keep the masses hanging onto your every word._

_I'll be sure to keep my ears open for any changes with the new Viscount, but as of now, he seems to be competent enough, and I'll keep a sharp eye on Daisy. She won't be teaching the children in the Alienage anything about blood magic (or any magic at all) if I have anything to say about it. It's just more ammunition to get herself caught by the templars, even though they've seemed to back off of her a little because of what you did. Not sure how long it'll last (they still don't know about her blood magic), but here's hoping the impression you left doesn't wear off any time soon._

_Anyway, regarding the kid, I wouldn't dream of missing the birth of little baby Hawke. Bianca and I are taking bets on the gender. I think it's a boy, but she swears it's a girl. I guess we'll see when (he) arrives. And, Maker's breath, will you stop worrying, and just enjoy it? What happened to all that _we'll-cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it_ shit? Suck it up and enjoy your pregnancy._

_I have to ask, Champion: Do you have a death wish? Let me tell you, when she read the words "Auntie Aveline", our favourite Guard-Captain nearly fell over in shock. Something tells me that's not a name she'll appreciate the kid calling her, and you're gonna encourage (him) to keep doing it because you know it'll piss her off. Don't try to deny it; I know you too well, Champion. We both know you live to piss Aveline off, and any chance you get to do so while you're not around her anymore, you're gonna jump at because you're crazy and deprived. You must take so much pleasure in that scowl of hers. Frankly, it scares the piss out of me, but I never claimed to be braver than you, Hawke. You love to provoke the woman, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why._

_Anyway, Hawke, good luck with the pregnancy. Hope everything goes well, and the kid is even half the trouble maker you are._

_Varric_

_**P.S. **__Maybe I'll stick around for a while when I come visit. I might be crazy, but seeing the elf take on the role of the dark, menacing, broody father is something I would never pass up even if you paid me._

* * *

_Varric,_

_Ha! I know you think Fenris taking the fatherly role would be fun to watch, but I assure you that watching me become a mother will be infinitely more entertaining._

_I don't know the first thing about being... matronly. I rarely helped my mother with the twins. When I _did_ help, it was mostly making sure they (and by _"they"_ I do mean Bethany) were safe. By that time they were old enough to take care of themselves for the most part._

_I am a sad excuse for a cook (though I _am_ learning), I can't sew or mend to save my life, and my cleaning skills don't extend much farther than polishing my daggers. Can you just imagine what I'll be teaching my child?_

_It's strange, though. We'd never seriously thought about children. A human rogue tomboy Champion, and an escaped elven slave with lyrium carved into his skin. We are certainly Thedas' most unlikely parents. I would be lying, though, if I said I wasn't excited. And can you believe that Fenris is as well? In his own, quiet way of course, but I've been with the man for years now. I can read his expressions and tone of voice as if he were an open book. Don't tell him I said so, though. He likes to think he's still the dark, mysterious man I fell in love with years ago._

_And of course I knew Auntie Aveline would have that sort of reaction. Mainly because she's like my sister; she can't stay mad at me. That's why it was so much fun! That scowl is just so bloody rewarding, and I wish I could have been there to see it._

_Believe me, the encounter with our favourite pirate queen wasn't quite that exciting, but it certainly was interesting. Did you know she actually apologized? To my face, in front of Fenris and a whole tavern full of people! I still can't forgive her for what she did, after so many people died, but at least she's trying to atone somehow. I guess I should expect a visit from her in the not-so-distant future._

_Who knows? Maybe she'll even show up for the baby's birth._

_... Suddenly, I feel the urge to vomit creeping up on me, so I'll quickly end the letter here._

_See you soon,  
Hawke_

* * *

_Hawke,_

_I don't know, Hawke. I still think Broody as a father would be extremely entertaining to watch, but I guess I'll take your word for it until I get there. Somehow, the picture you've painted of the elf doesn't make him seem quite as "broody" anymore. I think you've rubbed off on him. Or maybe it's just because, like you said, you've been with him so long you can read the subtle changes in his expression._

_Speaking of expressions, Aveline definitely had the scowl you were hoping for. Made me glad it wasn't directed at me. Deep down, though, I think she secretly misses you around to try her patience. You liked to keep her on her toes, and you were so damn good at it._

_And you'd bloody well better teach that kid how to use daggers just like you do. Nobody can hit a target with a blade like you can, Hawke. It'd be a shame if you didn't pass those skills on. The Hawke name should be a name that invokes fear for all the ages, and if I have anything to say about it (and you _know_ I do) that kid will carry along one hell of a legacy in just (his) surname. Rest assured that it's not a name that's easily forgotten here in the Free Marches._

_I imagine the conversation with Rivaini was very rewarding for you though. You finally got some closure. I'll be sure to throw in a few embellishments of my own when I retell the story. Just to make it a little more interesting for drunkards and tavern maids. The usual audience—you know how it is. I'll have to know how it _really_ went for that, though, and you know if you don't tell me the truth, I'll just make something up. You never know what that might entail._

_Anyway, Hawke. I have a tavern full of patrons waiting to hear of the Champion's adventures, so I'd better not keep them waiting._

_All the best in the pregnancy,  
Varric_

* * *

_Varric,_

_You had better not be telling them of the time I tripped over my own feet along the Wounded Coast and fell face-first into the water. Because it would be just like you to tell them that. At least make it sound like I was diving in to rescue someone. Like Merrill. Or a baby, or something equally as ridiculous._

_And, of course Aveline misses me! She must be going crazy without my sunny disposition, and unholy knack for being able to drag her away from her paperwork. I wonder if she's actually managing to stay on top of that, now that I'm not there anymore._

_In other news, I've started to feel the baby moving now. It's the oddest feeling, I can't even begin to describe it. It's like that nervous fluttering you feel when you're about to do something crazy (read: _stupid._ I'm intimately familiar with that feeling) but different, somehow. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, but it's making all the cravings, boredom, and morning sickness completely worth the trouble._

_Oh, Varric, I wish you could have seen Fenris' face the first time he felt the baby kick. Never before have I seen such a beautiful mix of fear, wonder and amazement cross his face at one time. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest as I watched that precious rarity of a smile appear._

_I looked at him and said, "That's your baby."_

_He didn't say anything, but he looked at me as if he couldn't believe it was true. Like he never thought he would be so lucky. He's going to be a wonderful father. I can see the love in his eyes already, and the baby's not even here yet. We aren't pretending it's going to be easy, though. He knows nothing of fatherhood, and I know very little of being a mother. I have only examples of my own parents to go by. Granted, they are great examples, but it's not like they taught me how to look after the newborn twins when I was three years old. I only really know what little I remember from my childhood, and Fenris remembers next to nothing of his own._

_It's these days I'm finding that I miss my parents more than ever. They would be so happy to be grandparents. And I could certainly use their help. I wish they could have been here._

_Anyway, Varric, I need to (attempt to) cook dinner, so I'll see you soon._

_Regards,  
Hawke_

* * *

_Hawke,_

_Oh, but that's one of my favourite stories! I could do so much with it! The Great Champion Hawke, virtuous, beautiful, fierce, and terribly clumsy. _

_You're not even in Kirkwall anymore, and still, you never let me have any fun._

_Also, _you_, cooking _**dinner**_? I think I may have just had a heart attack reading that. The poor elf's gotta put up with your cooking? Maker, if I didn't know he'd hate the pity, I'd feel sorry for the man. That's love right there. Don't let that one get away._

_Well, Aveline's certainly been on top of... something_ (read: _someone_), _that's for sure. I think Donnic's taken the place of you for dragging her away from her paperwork, though his methods are definitively different than yours._

_Speaking of Aveline, she keeps pestering me to ask if the elf has popped the question yet. To be honest, I don't think it's happened, or that it'll happen any time soon, but that's just my opinion, based on what I know of the guy. He just hasn't seemed the type to make the kind of commitment that relates to a certain type of _ownership. _It is, albeit, a voluntary one, and that's a rather stunted way of looking at it, but he was once a slave. Ah, well. Who knows? Maybe his life with you has changed him. If not, maybe fatherhood will make him more receptive to that kind of commitment._

_Though, the picture you've painted of him does make it seem a little more probable. I guess I might have to find a new nickname for him, once I get there. Or does he only act that way around you? _

_Anyway, it's official, Aveline got leave to come with me to see the baby. Donnic won't be coming though—he has to stay behind and manage the City Guard while she's gone. Daisy's coming too, but I guess that's a given. If you didn't invite her, she would have invited herself. _

_On that note, are you sure you want us all there again? You do remember what it was like having us all together, right? Noise. Lots of noise. And brooding. And name-calling. And cheating (though that was usually only when Rivaini was around). You'd better have the Diamondback cards ready and dealt for when we arrive. _

_It'll be just like old times._

_Varric_

* * *

_Varric,_

Oh, ha, ha!_ Very funny. Sometimes I wonder why I'm still friends with you._

_I happen to be an... _acceptable_ cook. Alright, whatever, but I'm learning! And Fenris hasn't complained... though that may just be because I'm pregnant and he doesn't want to set me off on a tangent. Which is completely understandable because when I get like that, I annoy _myself_._

_Varric, you _dirty_ little man! Aveline... Donnic... I'm... not going to ask how you know that. That woman is like my sister! I did _not_ need that image in my head, thankyou__**ever**__somuch._

_Right... moving on..._

_Funny she should ask that. Aveline. Because you are now talking to a happily married woman! Fenris asked (or, well... _demanded_, really) me to marry him, and naturally, I accepted. We had the ceremony just a couple of weeks ago. Just he and I, and the Chantry Mother, of course._

_You, ah, can go ahead and tell the others. It'll give them some time to cool down before you all get here. I apologize in advance for the impending shit-storm. Oh, I can just _hear_ Aveline now, "She did _**WHAT**_! I worked so hard to get her to my wedding, and she doesn't even bother to _invite_ me to her own?" _

_Please understand that this was the best decision. Fenris wouldn't have been himself with you all here, regardless of the fact that you're our friends. A small, private wedding was what we needed._

_Maker... I'm _married. _I'm a _wife._ It still hasn't quite sunken in yet. I'm still surprised that we somehow managed to get through numerous battles with increasingly crazy bloodmages, a duel with the Qunari Arishok, a Tevinter magister, a templar power-monger, and a psychopathic First Enchanter, and lived to tell about it. How did we ever manage to get this far? During my time in Kirkwall, I had never expected to get to this point in my life. Living the life that I had, I never thought I would survive long enough to fall in love, let alone become a mother and raise a family._

_It almost seems like a dream._

_Well, if it is a dream, I never want to wake up. _

_I'll see you soon, Varric.  
Hawke_

* * *

_Hawke,_

_Damn, you're _married_? You and the elf? Well, to be honest, I didn't think he had it in him. Congratulations. You deserve every bit of happiness you two can find, after what you've both been through. I wish you all the best._

_But, why? _**WHY**_ did you leave Aveline and Daisy for me to deal with? That is so not fair. I had to listen to Aveline's shouting for nearly _half an hour_. In the end, though, I think she understood. She certainly wasn't happy about it, but she understood your reasoning. The elf would have been uncomfortable baring his soul to anyone other than you, even if we are his friends._

_Either way, I guarantee she'll have something to say when we get there. So prepare yourself._

_Also, I'm sensing a story behind that "proposal" of his. You know you'll have to tell me, right? The stories of the Champion could always use some new material, even if it isn't the usual slaying of dragons and fawning over broody elv-I mean,__ exacting justice on all slavers._

_Speaking of your many exploits, only you could survive a life like that, and still end up happily married with a child on the way. I dunno how you did it, Hawke. But I'm proud to have lived to see it._

_Anyway, we'll be leaving in a month. We want to make sure we're there before the baby is. I don't know if there'll be a point to replying to this letter, because by the time you get this, it'll only be a few weeks, and your reply might not even get to me before we leave. _

_Can't wait to see the little one. I'm sure (he) is going to be just as much of a trouble maker as you are. (He) will have one hell of a legacy to live up to. But it's not like (he) will be lacking for drive and determination, considering who (his) parents are._

_We'll see you soon, Hawke.  
Varric_

* * *

Hawke had just finished reading Varric's letter when the bedroom door opened behind her, and familiar footsteps made their way inside. Folding the paper up and replacing it inside the envelope, she shook her head with a smile and put the envelope in her desk drawer.

She was sure the baby knew when Fenris was around, because the very moment his hands snaked around her waist from behind and settled upon her swollen belly, she felt a particularly powerful kick. She chuckled lightly, and placed her hands over her husband's, "Varric had better hurry up and get here with the others. This little one doesn't seem to want to wait."

His chin hooked over her shoulder and she felt his soft breath of laughter against her cheek, "So impatient. Sounds familiar."

"Hey!" She flicked her head back towards him, intending to counter, but unable to, "Alright, I suppose that's true."

"That just means you get things done faster." He responded.

She snorted, "And quite often I end up making an idiot of myself in the process."

"It's part of your charm."

She laughed outright at that, "I can only hope so!"

His arms tightened around her for a moment, and he kissed the side of her neck lightly, causing a churning in her belly that had nothing to do with the child growing inside her, "Are you coming out?"

Smirking, she twisted in his arms and sat up on the desk, pulling him towards her, "But I can think of so many more fun things to do in here."

"Is that so?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, his gaze darkening, and his voice dropping to that perfect register that made her weak in the knees, "And what might those be?"

"Oh, I can show you, if you're interested."

His eyes clouded with mirth, and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug, "Well, it's not like I had anything better to do."

She smacked his arm playfully, and their laughter was only one of the sounds that were heard from the repertoire of their room that night.

* * *

_Author's Note: _

I had originally intended to end it with the last letter, but it kinda still seemed like it was missing some closure. So I added the drabble at the end. Probably useless, but cute. :P


	20. What Happens in Orlais: Part 1

_Author's Note_

Hello folks! First of all: Name change! Apparently there was an issue with my old pen name disappearing after being typed into the document manager, so I've changed it to make it easier on the people I beta for.

Who's up for a little action, eh? I was itching to write a more action-y short, so I wrote one. Fluff is nice, but I've been writing too much of it lately, and I'm sure some of you were getting annoyed with me for it. So, here is my apology. This one in particular is still set post-game, but it certainly wasn't all a pleasant, fun time as Hawke and Fenris traveled around Thedas, especially considering her actions during the final battle in Kirkwall. As much as the idea of staying under the radar appeals to Hawke, she just wasn't made for that life, and with Fenris with her (a white-haired elf covered in white tattoos) it's not exactly easy to blend in.

So, this happened.

As always, a huge thank you goes out to my readers/followers/lurkers, etc. You're all amazing and while I don't update as often as I used to, I'm glad you all have stuck with me this long. I'll do my best not to disappoint, and if you have any suggestions, fire them my way, and I'll try and make them happen.

Enjoy,

- BB

P.S. For anyone who's interested, I've created a tumblr! You can find me there under the url "TheTivster". I pretty much use it to reblog anything that makes me laugh, and post about my life, but if anyone from here would like me to, I'd be happy to post about updates my stories.

* * *

**Time Frame:** Post-game, shortly after Hawke and Fenris leave Kirkwall (before their trip to Antiva).

* * *

**What Happens in Orlais  
Part One:** Interruption

Val Royeaux was quite possibly the most extravagant city Hawke had ever seen (which, admittedly, wasn't much, as they had only just begun their travels). The spires of the noble houses stretched far into the sky, blotting out the sun, with gold statues of various animals adorning the rooftops. Flags bearing the colors of family crests were plastered all over the houses, boasting their wealth and influence to all who cared to look. Towering above it all, silhouetted in the sunlight, was the Chantry, home to Divine Justinia, and visible to nearly the entire city. The palace of the Empress was not far off, and equally visible.

What she found most striking, however, was the impossibly elaborate fashion sense of the locals. The gowns worn by the women all seemed of a similar style, and were like nothing she'd ever seen before. They were impeccably detailed, with lace, bows, ruffles and gemstones embellished on a bodice laced so tight, Hawke wondered how they didn't suffocate. The skirts were rounded like a bell, but cut in a way that made them look as if they'd been hiked up to the knees in the front high enough to show off the wearer's lower legs, which were covered in a varying array of high-heeled boots and shoes with pointed toes nearly sharp enough to be deadly.

Every woman she saw wore their hair in ridiculous styles, piled high atop their heads and festooned with flowers, feathers, and the most random objects she would never associate with hair ("Really? I do wonder how long it took you to train that parrot to stay atop your head like that.") The city folk milled about the square wearing masks painted with painstaking detail in vibrant colors and shapes, ridiculously large and rather flamboyant.

"The masks broadcast their families in the same way a heraldry would on a shield." Fenris explained, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

Looking back up at him, she gave him a crooked smile, "And where exactly did you learn so much of Orlesian customs?"

"Danarius made frequent trips to Orlais."

That was all he said on the matter, and all the explanation she needed, so she didn't press the issue.

Her head seemed to be on a swivel. She couldn't stop looking around, drinking everything in. She distantly noticed the appraising looks the locals gave her and her dog, who was happily bouncing about between the legs of the crowd and back to her side again. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a doggy grin, completely oblivious to the disapproving scowls cast his way as he pranced excitedly about. It surprised her sometimes, how a dog almost two decades old could still somehow have such energy left. Certainly, he would want to sleep the evening away when they returned to their room at the inn later, but for now, he had the energy of a dog half his age, and the vision made her smile.

Turning that smile towards a local shop owner, she casually perused the woman's wares. The shopkeeper scowled at her, and turned up her nose. It only made Hawke grin wider, and she could feel Fenris rolling his eyes behind her.

The locals who recognized her (which wasn't all that difficult, come to think of it. Her Champion armour was nothing if not flashy, and the white-haired elf at her side with the odd lyrium tattoos was not exactly inconspicuous) looked on her with mixtures of respect and disgust. That much was to be expected, she supposed. The locals who didn't know her (the noble ones, at least) looked at her with haughty condescension.

Not that she cared, really. If she was at all bothered by any of the disapproving glances she received on a daily basis in her adult life, she would never step outside.

The University of Orlais was more magnificent than she could have possibly imagined. The sprawling campus spanned the entire length of a lush green courtyard dotted with trees and flower gardens, with an extremely oversized water fountain as the focal point, and a collection of wooden benches surrounding it. They spent most of the day there, learning history and speaking to the scholars. Fenris seemed to be rather enjoying himself, Hawke noted with a fond smile. Especially the outrageously oversized library, which he tried his _damndest_ not to be interested in, but failed miserably. She discreetly watched him as he removed book after book from the many shelves, reading the descriptions briefly before placing each one back into its place on the shelf. She took note of the longing in his eyes occasionally, remembering which books he so desired so she could buy them for him later (because the likelihood of him spending money on himself for pleasure was non-existent).

In fact, the entire trip to the University itself was more for Fenris' benefit. (Not that she had told him that.) For as much as he was a powerful warrior, she doubted he would have chosen such a life for himself, if he'd had a choice to begin with. His love for knowledge and history, as well as his keen insight pegged him as more akin to a scholar, or philosopher. He had the heart of a thinker, this man.

They left in the early evening, shortly after the shops in the market had closed for the night, and the sun had set below the horizon. She called for her dog, who trotted faithfully down the path toward her.

Even in the dim lighting provided by lampposts set every few feet along the path leading out through the courtyard, the welcoming, if obtrusive presence of the University seemed not at all like an expected place for an ambush.

But of course, when had anything in Hawke's life ever gone according to plan?

The first indicator that something was amiss was her mabari suddenly stopping along the path with his hackles raised, allowing a growl to escape from low in his throat. Fenris' hand landed purposefully on her shoulder, and a chill ran down her spine.

Fenris looked about the shadows, and used his superior hearing to listen for any intruders, as she stooped to her dog's side, her hands itching to reach for her daggers, "What is it, old boy?"

She pulled her shiv from her belt – the same one she used to exact vengeance on that sneaky bastard of a rogue years earlier for very nearly ending Fenris' life. Flipping it in her hands, she narrowed her eyes on the bushes in the distance as a deafening silence settled over them. Her gaze flicked about, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. The fact that she was in an unfamiliar place, and unfamiliar surroundings certainly didn't make things easier, however, and for the first time in nearly the year since her departure from the city, she wished she was back in Kirkwall, where she was familiar with every nook and cranny.

Then, the moonlight reflected off something in the distance, hidden amongst the bushes. The glint of metal drew her eye at the same moment Fenris' hand tightened on her shoulder. An arrow tip.

Suddenly, her blade was sailing through the air, and the metal glint disappeared. Moments later, a man came stumbling from the shadows, her blade embedded in his throat as he tumbled to the ground, stone dead.

The deafening silence was shattered then, and the rest of the notably large ambush stepped out of hiding and she blew out her cheeks with a sigh, "Fantastic. Can't a girl just take a nice, peaceful vacation without getting ambushed?"

"Not when someone wants you dead bad enough to hire this many Antivan Crows." Fenris grumbled, drawing his sword and going back-to-back with her as more and more assassins came pouring from the shadows, flanking them.

"Crows. You know," she muttered, finally drawing her daggers and looking for openings in the Crows' formation, "somehow, I'm not surprised."

There was nothing. The formation was virtually flawless, and it was the two of them and her mabari, flanked by no fewer than twenty Crows. She felt the first trickle of fear make its way down her spine, though she didn't show it.

The man she assumed was the leader stepped forward, his hands confidently absent of weapons and placed on his hips, "Nothing against you, Champion." He said, his voice thick with a lilting Antivan accent, "It's strictly business, you see."

She heaved another exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes, "Of course it is."

He moved back out of the fray, and the clash of blades echoed throughout the courtyard as he sent his assassins into action.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

This one's gonna be a bit longer. I originally was hoping it would be another two-shot, but this first part just kept getting longer. I eventually decided to split it into two, so it'll probably end up being three, or even four chapters long (I still haven't finished it). But, hey, it's action-packed, so hopefully, it will serve as an apology for all of the fluff. :P


	21. What Happens in Orlais: Part 2

_Author's Note_

Hey all! Got another update for you. I'm sure you were all waiting to see how this fight turned out.

As always, a huge thank you goes out to my readers/followers/lurkers, etc. You're the best, and feel free to fire suggestions my way. Just... remember the T rating. :P

Enjoy,

- BB

_Disclaimer: It's all BioWare's._

* * *

**What Happens in Orlais**  
**Part Two: **Victory! ... Sort-of.

Shouting a vicious battle cry, both Champion and ex-slave leapt into opposite directions. Fenris incapacitated a handful of Crows with one swipe of his massive sword while Hawke tossed a smoke grenade into the fray of those approaching her. Diving into a somersault and feeling her blades rip into flesh as she came back up to her feet, she pivoted on her heel and swiped her dagger across the knee of another assailant, slipping it into the opening under his arm when he went down. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards in a feral grin as she felt the blade puncture flesh, grind unpleasantly against his ribcage, and finally enter his heart.

She didn't have time to catch her breath. Feeling someone behind her, she flipped one dagger in her hand while pulling the other free and thrust it backwards into the man sneaking up on her, feeling it hit home. He doubled over, placing his face in the prime position for just punishment delivered by her unforgiving elbow.

The battle continued for far longer than it should have. The Crows just _kept coming._ Among other minor cuts and bruises, she'd taken a brutal kick to the chest, and was sure she'd be nursing at least a few cracked ribs when all this was over.

Her mabari, Alden, was fighting his own battle, taking down archers and those on the outskirts. Occasionally, she would hear his menacing growl above the terrified screams of his prey making its way across the courtyard as he took them down.

Behind her, Fenris let out a shout of anger (not pain, thankfully), and some of the attention was diverted from her over to him. Hawke only hoped he could handle the extra attention, and wasn't needlessly putting himself in more danger in order to protect her.

She risked a glance back at him. His brands were flaring brighter than any torch, almost blinding in the night. But she could see he was beginning to tire, and there was a nasty gash across the left side of his face, dangerously close to his eye. She was wearing down as well, and her throbbing ribs certainly weren't helping her. But they were in no position to consider themselves on the winning side. For every Crow they took down, another seemed to join the battle. There were just too many of them. They started to push her backwards, so she met Fenris' back again, crouching low on the balls of her feet, breathing heavily. _Figures,_ she thought begrudgingly to herself, _I spend the better half of my life fighting demons, blood mages, a qunari Arishok, and a Maker-damned __**high dragon**__, only to be assassinated by Antivan Crows, at the bidding of someone too cowardly to fight me in person._

_Fate is a finicky bitch._

Fenris bolstered himself, and she heard his voice behind her, strengthened with a resolved finality, "_Estieve fortis, cordil mei.*_" He muttered in Arcanum, "I will not allow them to take you. You will not die here."

He drew himself up again, but before he could leap back into the fray, she reached behind her and grasped his wrist. He froze as she turned to look at him briefly over her shoulder, "Neither will you. _Na via lerno victoria, _right?"

He sighed, before nodding slowly and lifting his sword as she let out the breath she'd been holding and collected strength from his resolve. Reaching to unclip a small jar of powder from her belt, sealed and the only one of its kind that she kept with her due to its volatility, she gripped it with white knuckles, and her eyes narrowed on the approaching assailants.

_Make it count, Daedra._

She wound her arm back for a moment, testing its familiar weight, before flinging it into the crowd, where it exploded in a gale of smoke and flames.

There was a moment where everything just _stopped_, as she considered just where, exactly, she was. The logical part of her brain was screaming at her. She wasn't in Kirkwall anymore, where most everything was stone. _Oh Maker. Oh shit, shit, __**shit!**__ I just smashed an extremely volatile, extremely flammable and potent bomb in the courtyard of the University of Orlais! Please don't burn the place down please don't burn the place down please don't burn the place down. Why, oh why am I such an __**idiot**__!_

Luckily, the assassins were in the clearing, where very few trees and other flammable objects lingered and most of the ground was paved with cobblestones. So there was little to worry about with the wind as slight as it was.

Screaming set time to moving again, as the flames licked at the assassins' clothing, so she used the distraction to her advantage, taking down some of the Crows who had managed to escape the blaze. It seemed as if the Crows had stopped coming now, so she leapt back to Fenris' side this time, assisting him, and _oh_, how it felt good to be fighting by his side in tandem again. They complemented each other, and were virtually unstoppable when they fought together like this, which had to have been why they'd surrounded the two, hoping to divide their attention.

Clever.

Now that the numbers against them were fewer, however, Fenris and Hawke didn't have to worry so much about being flanked, as long as they kept moving, and things were finally flipping into their favour.

"How long have you been holding onto that?" Fenris asked from beside her, slamming the pommel of his greatsword into the chest of a Crow and knocking him off-balance, allowing her to take the final blow as she twisted behind the man and neatly drew her dagger across his throat.

"Long enough," she replied, pulling her dagger free from another man's back with a shrug, before pivoting and shoving a knee into the gut of an approaching assassin, "I thought it was about time to get rid of it."

"No kidding."

The leader finally joined the battle then, whipping out two stylized daggers that were as deadly as they were beautiful. Before she had a chance to react (_Shit, he's fast!)_ he leapt at her, only to be intercepted by her faithful mabari, who tackled the man to the ground. His blades scrabbled out of his grasp, but Hawke was too busy defending herself from the two other Crows that had attacked her immediately afterwards to do anything to help.

As she risked a glance back towards him, she watched the Crow struggle against Alden's crushing weight and use his hands and arms to keep the wardog's powerful snapping jaws from making contact with its target at his jugular. As the dog's teeth finally clamped around the assassin's forearm, the man let out a shout, and Hawke returned to her respective battle, satisfied that the mabari would be successful.

Both elf and human were too preoccupied with their respective opponents to offer the dog attention or assistance, until the mabari's pained yelp shot across the clearing and directly into Hawke's ears. She whipped around, narrowly avoiding a debilitating attack from her opponent's blade as her attention was snatched away by her beloved companion, pinning the leading man to the ground with a blade puncturing his side. He must have reached one of the daggers he'd dropped.

Seeing red, she growled in fury, whirling back and kicking out her opponent's knee, driving her own into his nose with a sickening crunch as he doubled over, flicking back to face Alden again. His grip on the man's arm was strong, but his wound was steadily gushing blood, and he would not last much longer. Cursing bitterly, and enraged, she turned back and simultaneously flung her daggers into the chests of two assassins, not even waiting for them to die before grabbing a vial of poison from her belt and uncorking it with her teeth, flinging its contents into the eyes of another. He went down screaming bloody murder, his fingers clawing at his face.

Fenris' taunting, guttural cry rang out ahead of her, and the remaining half-dozen attackers diverted to him.

"Go!" He shouted when she glanced at him in trepidation, "I can handle them. Go!"

Hawke nodded briskly and rushed to her faithful hound's side, who limped off the man as she landed a swift kick to the side of the assassin's head, not trying to kill him, but uncaring if she did. He went out cold. Fenris was making quick work of the remaining assailants, but her hound was whining pitifully at her feet. The wound wasn't terrible from what she could see, but Alden seemed to be in excruciating pain.

Wary, she picked up the Crow's abandoned dagger and sniffed it. Poison. Cursing bitterly, she scrambled at her belt for elfroot potions and the antidotes to her own poisons, hoping that one of them might work. She carefully put the potion to her dog's mouth and slowly tipped it in. He lapped it up like the smart old mabari she knew him to be as she plucked the cork from the antidote she believed most likely to work, smearing some directly over the wound and pouring some into his mouth, "Hang in there, old boy. You'll get throu—"

"Daedra!"

The level of sudden panic in Fenris' voice had her whirling, only to see an assassin who had come out of nowhere, bearing down on her with such speed, she had no hope of moving in time to avoid his attack.

Just as she braced herself, something whizzed through the air above her, embedding itself solidly into the man's eye. She recognized the familiar hilt of her own shiv protruding from his head as he went limp, and she pushed his lifeless body out of the way before his momentum sent him careening into her. He landed unceremoniously on the ground with a heavy _whump_.

Fenris had finally managed to take down the assassins blocking him from her and was at her side in seconds, grabbing at her face and checking her over for injuries. She shook him away, pressing a health potion into his hands, and turned back to her fallen companion, willing the antidote to work and for her beloved mabari to get back up and walk again, forgetting about where her knife even came from in the first place.

"Oh no, no thanks necessary for saving your life, Champion." That familiar accent lilted across the clearing as its deliverer stepped into the open and angled towards her.

* * *

* _Be strong, my heart_

* * *

_Author's Note_

Who could it be? Pft, as if you can't figure it out. :P

I am a slave to my inspiration, as this just keeps getting longer...


	22. What Happens in Orlais: Part 3

_Author's Note_

Dear God, I've created a monster. This Orlais segment will end up being about five chapters long, itself. And that's not even going to be the end. In fact, it'll be the introduction to a larger novella that I have decided to publish separately, because I want to keep this as a collection of shorts. I'll give more information on that in following chapters.

As always, a tremendous thank you to my readers/lurkers/followers/fav-ers, etc. Your kind words keep me writing, and your feedback is always more than welcome. :)

Now, I'm currently fighting off waves of nausea, so I'm going back to bed. I just wanted to publish this while I was awake.

Enjoy!

- BB

* * *

**What Happens in Orlais  
****Part Three: **Better Late Than Never

When she looked up, she was not entirely surprised to see that familiar blond head of hair framing amber eyes and a coy smile as the elven assassin made his way toward her.

"Zevran." Was all she said by way of a greeting. She turned back to Alden again, who showed no signs of improvement, too worried to consider a proper greeting, "You'll have to forgive the lack of formalities as I have slightly more important things to worry about at the moment."

"Ah yes," he responded as he approached, crouching beside her and fishing in his belt pouch for something, "Fereldans and their dogs. I gathered that much from my lovely Warden."

She couldn't exactly argue with that. She did rather love her loyal wardog, so she said nothing.

"You see, the thing about Crow poison," he said, withdrawing a vial of amber liquid from his belt and uncorking it, approaching Alden cautiously, who let out a low, less-than-threatening growl, "is that it can only be counteracted by a _Crow_ antidote."

"It's alright, old boy." Hawke soothed, scratching the dog affectionately behind the ear, and looking at Zevran appreciatively, "He's going to help." Then, her expression changed, and there was more than a little of a threat in her eyes that said, _But i__f you're lying, and you make him worse, I will kill you._

"Mm, such ferocity in those exquisite green eyes of yours." He replied, unfazed and leering at her for a moment, before turning to look at Fenris with a raised eyebrow, "She is a wild one, no?"

Fenris, who had downed the health potion to seal the gash near his eye, along with other minor cuts and bruises, was in the process of tying up the Crow leader for questioning, but he looked up long enough to shoot Zevran a murderous glare. Hawke sighed in irritation, blithely ignoring the heat flaring into her cheeks, "My dog is _dying_, here!"

"Ah yes, of course." The Antivan made to pour the vial into the dog's mouth, and Alden grudgingly complied once Hawke lowered her face into his view and set both hands to scratching him behind the ears.

"Give him another elfroot potion, and he should be fine." Zevran instructed, backing away and pocketing the empty antidote vial, "Though you might want to get the wound itself looked at if it doesn't heal completely."

"Oh, he's had worse." She responded, tilting her head at him as she took the potion from her belt and did as instructed, watching the wound in his side knit together, "Haven't you, boy?"

He gave a quiet _woof_ of agreement, shutting his tired eyes now that he was no longer at risk of dying, and finally able to relax.

"Now, my dear Champion," the assassin said, jerking his head toward the bound Crow, "what will you do with him?"

"The same thing the Warden did with you." Hawke explained, standing to her feet with a pained wince, and a hand at her injured ribs. A health potion was pushed into her view, and she looked up to see Fenris staring at her expectantly. Gratefully, she accepted it and downed the potion, pocketing the vial and placing her hands decisively at her hips as she studied the fallen Crow.

"Ah, the Warden did _many _things with me. But I greatly doubt it is those things you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"You're not thinking of allowing him to join us, I hope?" Fenris asked, standing and approaching her.

"Of course not! I don't have a blight to deal with, and frankly, you and I don't need a third wheel. We're on vacation, remember?" She looked at her lover out of the corner of her eye, smirking slightly, "We run just fine on our own. Besides," she added, looking over at Zevran, "the Warden was much younger when she met you. Frankly, I'm getting too old and impatient for that shit."

"For the record," Fenris chimed in, "you were always impatient."

She gave him a long-suffering look, "**_Anyway_**, I should like to know who wants me dead badly enough to send this many Crows. Maker knows that over the years I've developed a rather extensive list of people I don't like, and an even larger list of people who don't like me for whatever reason. You remember that Magistrate back in Kirkwall? He never did make good on that threat of revenge for killing his son."

It was no secret. She was fully aware of the consequences of her actions during all of her life's most difficult decisions. And most times, no matter what side she chose, someone would end up getting hurt. So she did what she felt was right.

Hawke's decisions during that final battle in Kirkwall had certainly made her a whole host of new enemies. She couldn't blame them, honestly. Up until the death of her mother, she agreed with Anders' views on mage freedom. Of course she did. But when her mother died at the hands of a mage, a part of herself had died with her. She certainly still believed mages deserved more freedom than what they had, but she also believed the Circles were necessary, because nearly _everywhere_ she turned in those last few years, a blood mage was trying to kill her, or those close to her, and for no _Maker damned_ reason. And then what did Anders do? He blew up the bloody _Chantry_, without any need of blood magic. Fenris also played a big part in her decision. Not because she wanted to please him, but because the more she learned about his past in Tevinter, and the effect it had on him, and was _still _having on him today, the more she knew she couldn't risk another Imperium.

But she was not heartless. Her father and baby sister were _mages_ for the Maker's sake, and any mage in the Gallows that fateful night that refused to fight, she allowed to walk free.

The Circle didn't need to be disbanded in order for mages to have more freedom. What it _needed _was better leadership. The First Enchanter may not have been practicing blood magic at the time of her mother's death, but he certainly didn't do anything to stop it. In fact, he _enabled_ it, and sent the murderous bastard books on the subject. Maybe Ninette, Alessa, her _mother_ and Maker only knows how many more women would still be alive today, had he brought Quentin to justice when he discovered him. If he had not been forthcoming with that, who knew what else he could have been hiding? He was so _focused_ on his opposition to Meredith, that he virtually forgot about all of the people in his charge, and his influence over them. Meredith might have even been right to search the Gallows in the first place.

Having said that, she held no love for Meredith either. The woman was twisted, and crazy. She knew it, and regardless of her decision that night, she was going to do everything in her power as the Champion to remove Meredith from her position as Knight-Commander, and she was _not_ about to let that woman become Viscount. She hadn't been expecting to kill Meredith that night, or to be pressured into taking the Viscount's throne herself, but it got the job done, much as she hated being in that position.

She wondered sometimes, had her sister been alive, if things would have been different. Would she have made the same decision, knowing the effect it would have on Bethany's life? Would her sister remain free? Or would she, as Viscountess, be forced to place her in the Circle to avoid favouritism?

She still couldn't decide who she would have sided with in that case, but she did know that if her sister had been alive, she would have refused the Viscount's throne. She wanted no pressure from others to make a decision about her sister's life, and she would openly challenge _anyone _trying to lock her up. Bethany's life was her own. She was a powerful mage, yes. Dangerous, possibly. But psychologically, she was the strongest mage Hawke had ever known aside from her father, and would _never_ give in to temptation.

It was probably selfish, and hypocritical to think that way. Hawke knew this, but she had never pretended to be a good person, and had acted on the ... _questionable_ side of the law more than once to benefit her family. "What did you expect, Aveline? I'm a rogue." She would argue with a shrug, "It's what rogues do." It was no secret. But anyone who knew her could tell you that _everything_ she did, she did for her family.

But her family was dead now. She was all that remained of them (well, aside from Gamlen, but who really cared about him anyway? And Charade was perfectly capable of taking care of herself). She'd failed them, but she would _not_ fail Kirkwall. It was her duty to protect the city, and so protect it she did.

But that did not mean she would have no enemies. Almost every mage in Thedas was against her now. Honestly, she was sort of wondering what had taken them so long to pull something like this.

Something red intruding in her faraway gaze broke her from her thoughts, and she looked down to see Zevran holding out her shiv, already cleaned. Smiling crookedly at him, she gave him a nod, "Thanks. For saving my life. And my dog's life."

"It was my pleasure, Champion." He replied, bowing gallantly, "As I said before, killing my former brothers-in-arms is oddly satisfying. And your dog? Ah, I just could not bear to see any sadness mar that lovely face of yours."

"Before I wake him up," She said, ignoring him again as Fenris stepped up beside her, no doubt glaring at the Antivan elf, "I have to ask: What are you doing here in Orlais? I thought you said you had a war to wage back home in Antiva?"

"Yes, I was actually here in Val Royeaux to meet an old friend of mine, a contact. She is not due to arrive for another couple of days, but while in the city, I noticed an unnerving amount of Antivan Crows. So, I did some investigating, but it was not until I learned of your arrival earlier today, that I discovered their target was in fact, you. Once I'd finally tracked you down to the University to warn you, it was already too late."

"Well, I'm thankful you showed up when you did. As my father used to say: Better late than never." She threw a conspiratorial look over her shoulder as she nudged the unconscious man with her boot in an attempt to wake him up, "He was notoriously tardy."

The man at her feet groaned, and slowly started coming to. Hawke nudged him again, "Oh come on. I didn't kick you _that_ hard." She paused for a moment, kneeling beside him and then amended with, "Okay, well maybe I did. But you stabbed my dog." Heaving a frustrated sigh when he still refused to wake, she began tapping his cheek to get his attention, "Wake _up_, you lazy ass."

"Mmmmwhat?" The man's eyes clenched together tightly, before he finally opened them to look at her hovering above him, an eyebrow cocked halfway up her forehead. Fenris was glaring daggers down at the man, and Zevran was watching the proceedings with a bemused smile. The Crow blinked at her in confusion for a moment before the wheels finally began to turn, and he realized what had happened, "Oh... shit."


	23. What Happens in Orlais: Part 4

_Author's Note_

Hello, all! Yet another installment to this monster. I can only hope there'll only be one more before I launch my spin-off. Two, at the most.

Your reviews are so encouraging to me, and I, as always, fire off a HUGE thank you to all of my reviewers/readers/lurkers/fav-ers, etc. for taking the time to read. You're the best.

To **jess**: Oh, don't worry. I certainly did not forget. It's addressed in this chapter, as well as the Crows' employer.

Speaking of which, please give me your opinion here, guys. I wasn't entirely sure where my muse was taking me when it suggested that particular person as their employer, and I'm wondering if you guys have the same idea. The more I thought about it though, the more it sort of made sense, considering the circumstances surrounding Hawke and her decisions.

Enjoy,

- BB

**P.S.** For anyone who's interested, I've given my Twitter a complete overhaul, and I'm trying to get into the habit of tweeting more often. If you'd like to follow me, my username is **Buried_Beneath **(that's _two_ underscores, as all other variations were taken). It's likely that I'll post updates to my writing process there before I upload the chapters here, and if you have any questions, you can feel free to ask me via Tweet. It'll encourage me to use Twitter more often, heh.

* * *

**What Happens in Orlais  
Part Four:** A Proposition

Hawke felt her lips part into a cheeky grin as she regarded the assassin at her feet, "A valiant effort, my friend. In fact, you almost succeeded."

He just stared up at her, so, taking a breath, she continued, "Fenris and I were having a nice, peaceful vacation, minding our own business here at the University before we were so _rudely_ interrupted. Needless to say, we're very tired. So, it would just be _fantastic_ if you would give us a name so we could just return to the inn, have a good night's rest, and get back to our vacation."

"A name?" The assassin gave her a toothy sideways grin, before replying, "Desmond Reynaldo, at your service."

"Oh, so you're a funny Crow?" She responded, chuckling, and turning to look at her companions, "He's a funny Crow."

They just looked at her, before she nodded to her lover, still smiling, "Fenris, why don't you show him your... talent?"

Smirking slightly, he held up a gauntleted hand and activated the lyrium. The markings lit up the night air, casting a blue-white glow to the distinctly elven planes of his face. As his hand began to go intangible, he glared down at the fallen Crow.

Before anything could be said or done, she'd whipped out her shiv and whirled back to the assassin, pinning him with a knee on his chest, and leaning in close, holding the blade at his neck with a fierce glare, "Here's the deal, _Desmond_: You give us the name of your employer, and I _don't_ allow Fenris here to shove his hand into your chest and do unpleasant things to your insides."

"I am employed by the Crows." He responded calmly, after the initial moment of surprise at her sudden change in demeanour passed.

"Not anymore." Zevran interjected, "May I remind you that you failed your mission. Your life is forfeit, so the Crows are going to come after _you_ now."

"So, my options are, die now, or die later?"

"Well, wouldn't you rather have a head-start?" Hawke asked.

"On dying?"

"On _running_. From the Crows. We could kill you now, in which case you would definitely die." She explained, "Or, you can tell us who hired you, and we'll let you go. In that case you might actually have a small chance of surviving, like Zevran here. Who knows? He might even be willing to offer some advice."

He took a breath, holding it as time dragged on, and Hawke's patience was wearing thin.

Zevran let out a chuckle, "You, my friend, are far more loyal to the Crows than they deserve."

Still, his response was merely silence, and the Champion's patience was diminished, "Fenris."

The elf in question, lyrium still activated, approached the fallen man, a sneer contorting his features. Hawke watched the man's throat bob under her blade as he swallowed heavily in trepidation, "Alright! Fine!"

Fenris stopped at her signal, and the Crow continued, "His name is Feynriel."

_Wait, what?_ "Feynriel from Kirkwall?"

He nodded.

She was taken aback, rising to her feet and stalking away from him in confusion, "Feynriel the dreamer, whom _I _prevented from becoming an abomination, and helped get in control of his magic before he made off to Tevinter? _That _Feynriel? Why would he want to kill me?"

"Perhaps he felt betrayed when he discovered you'd sided against the Circle back in Kirkwall." Fenris suggested.

She ran a hand through her hair, unsurprised, "That would explain it."

_Damn you, Anders, for forcing my hand. I never wanted it to end that way._

"Where did the boy get the money to hire this many Antivan Crows?"

"A mage with such a rare talent as his will have ascended far in Tevinter." Fenris muttered, folding his hands across his chest with a bitter sigh, "I would not be surprised to discover that he's become a Magister by this time. An apprentice, at the very least."

Hawke groaned in irritation, "Oh, well that just makes me feel _so _much better."

Letting out a frustrated breath, Fenris pulled her over to a nearby lamppost to speak privately as she began to pace fitfully, "What do you want to do?"

She blew out her cheeks in a sigh, "Well, we can't exactly go barrelling into Tevinter to hunt him down. It would be suicide."

"Doubtless, the majority of mages in the rebellion have fled to the Imperium in hiding." He agreed with a nod, "But, the Crows are not after _me_. As much as the thought of returning to Tevinter sickens me, I would go, if it meant keeping you safe."

"_**No.**_" She shook her head vehemently, "I don't want you to set foot anywhere near Tevinter again, regardless of the circumstances. Danarius may be dead, but there is likely still a bounty on your head. Not to mention the Resistance."

"Daedra, you would have a wolf at your back. I am intimately familiar with that experience."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing I have a wolf at my side, now isn't it?" She countered, her eyes narrowing as her arms crossed over her chest, indignant.

He cursed bitterly in Arcanum, before turning sharply away from her in frustration, "You are impossible!"

"I don't want to risk it, Fenris!" She pleaded, moving to step in front of him and craning her head into his view to force eye-contact, "Even if you succeed, the rebels will know who you are, and that you are associated with me. What do you think will happen if you're captured? At the _very_ least, they will use you to lure me there, and that's if they don't _kill _you. If I end up in that position, you know I would never refuse to come after you, and then what will happen? A few mages, we can handle. But the entire rebellion? Don't put me in that position, Fenris. Please."

_I can't lose you. I can't._

He sighed, "Of course you would come. Because you are infuriatingly stubborn."

"Oh, don't try and pretend you wouldn't do the same for me."

"I most certainly would." He said, "But my life is—"

"Don't even say it." She interrupted with a finger at his lips, "Your life is worth more than you can possibly imagine—_especially _to me. Getting that into your thick skull is proving to be quite the challenge." Her mouth pulled up into her signature smirk, and there was a light hearted glint in her eye.

He sighed, and gave her a sad smile, "The mentality of a slave is a hard one to break."

"I know," she replied, allowing her hand to slip down to his chest, "but you're making progress."

"So, the rumours about the Champion of Kirkwall and her ex-slave companion are evidently true." The captured assassin exclaimed from across the clearing.

"Zevran," she addressed the elf without looking away from Fenris, "If you would be so kind as to shut him up, or let him go. I don't care what you do."

"But—You said—!"

"I know what I said." Hawke responded, "Let that be a lesson to you: Never, _ever_ stab a Fereldan's wardog. You'll be very lucky to get away with your life. Consider it a blessing that I'm leaving your fate in the hands of a former Crow. He may be more merciful than I."

The young man looked up at Zevran in terror as the assassin approached with a menacing grin and stooped to his level, drawing a dagger. The man pinned his eyes shut and looked away, preparing for death. Smirking, Zevran moved it downward and cut the man's bonds, stepping away with a chuckle as he blinked in surprise.

The man stood, brushed off his armour in an attempt to futilely regain his dignity, before turning and starting off into the city without another word.

"What was the purpose of that, my dear?" Zevran asked as he approached them, and she turned towards him with her hands settled on her hips, "You know that I was fully aware you wanted to let him go."

"Of course." She responded with a shrug, "But he tried to kill me. The least I could do was to make him fear ever coming near us again, and it was _so_ damn satisfying to see the look of abject horror on his face when you approached him with that knife."

"Well, I believe you succeeded." He said with a low chuckle, "He won't be coming around again any time soon."

Sighing, she shared a look with Fenris for a moment, before turning back to look at the assassin, and returning to business, "We can't go to Tevinter to hunt Feynriel down. It's too dangerous, and is likely to lead us into a trap. You are a former Crow. What would you suggest we do?"

"Me?" He thought for a moment, a hand on his chin, until he finally cut his eyes to her. A devious smile pulled his lips to the side, "I suggest a deal, Champion. I have a proposition for you."


	24. What Happens in Orlais: Part 5

_Author's Note_

Soooooo sorry for the delay on this one guys! Midterms ate my soul for a few weeks, and I didn't get much time in for writing. It is now midterm break, however, and I have no school this week! Wooo! Here's the final (sort-of) installment to celebrate!

As always, a major thank you to my readers/lurkers/reviewers/fav-ers, etc, etc. You keep me writing, and I love hearing (well, _reading_) what you all have to say! :)

- BB

_Disclaimer: BioWare's toys, I'm just playing with them._

* * *

**What Happens in Orlais  
****Part Five: **Not Much of a Vacation

Hawke folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed on Zevran, "You have a proposition, do you? And what might that be?"

"You see, the reason I am meeting a contact, is not because I need her help, but because she needs mine." He explained, "If you agree to help her in my place, I will take care of your little _problem_ with the Crows. Because, let's be honest, that sounds much more fun to me."

"Zevran Arainai," she said, an eyebrow raising upwards on her forehead, "are you _turning down_ female company? Somehow I doubt Feynriel would be very open to your advances once he realizes why you're there."

"Ah, my dear, I barked up that tree once before with this contact, and it did not get me very far." He replied, as if pained by the supposed rejection, "Alas, she seemed quite taken with another at that point. Besides," he added with a shrug, "I have my doubts my dear Warden would react amicably should she discover I was propositioning another. She, ah, has ways of finding out."

A grin cut across her face, "So the rumours _are_ true. The notorious Zevran Arainai is monogamously in love."

He smirked, "Don't tell anyone. I do have a reputation."

She was quiet a moment, glancing at Fenris to gauge his reaction before speaking again, "Let's say we do agree to this—and I'm _not_ saying we will—what, exactly, are we agreeing to?"

"I do not know." He said with a shrug, "In our correspondence, she said she would only tell me in person. But I sincerely doubt it is anything you cannot handle. To be honest, she may be happier with your help, as you are a person of some repute."

"Is she?"

He chuckled slightly, "Well no, not in the same way you are. She is an assassin. But her morals are clearer than mine, and from what I know of you, closer to yours."

She held a hand to her chin, "I see. Is she a Crow?"

"No." He shook his head.

"So I don't have to worry about her stabbing me in the back, then?"

"Not unless her employers have instructed her to kill you as well. But I do not think she would request _my_ help for that, as I do have a certain fondness for you, Champion, and the thought of testing my mettle against you is slightly intimidating after what you did to the Arishok... and the Varterral... and the Knight-Commander."

There was a fierce, battle-hardened look in her eyes for a moment, before she continued, "Is there any reason we couldn't find out what she's asking us to do first, and then decide?"

He shrugged, "You could try, I suppose. But I can make no guarantee that she will be able to tell you unless you are committed to assisting her."

Hawke heaved an exasperated sigh, "Oh, why can't anything ever be easy?"

After a moment of thought, she pulled Fenris aside again to talk about their options, "What do you think?"

"I think there's something he's not telling us." He responded, one dark eyebrow raised on his forehead.

"I know. He's definitely hiding _something._" She said, "But he saved my life, and he saved Alden's life. He's helped us before, and he helped the Warden defeat the Blight."

"And that's your justification?" He asked incredulously, "How many years have passed since you last saw him? Even then, your interaction with him was very brief. _Certainly _not long enough to formulate a trustworthy opinion of him. It's a bad idea, Daedra."

"Well, so is barrelling into Tevinter, blades drawn, and screaming for blood in the middle of a mage rebellion." She responded, a sardonic twist to her lips as she held up her hands in supplication, "I'm just saying."

He heaved a sigh, clearly unhappy with the way she was leaning, and shook his head, "_Festis bei umo canavarum. _Fine! We will help the blasted assassin."

She looked at him apologetically for a moment, before turning sharply and heading back to Zevran, "It's a deal then. But on one condition."

The assassin looked at her expectantly.

"You can kill all the Crows you so desire. But, should you have any interaction with Feynriel, I'd ask that, unless he leaves you no choice, you do not kill him."

"What?" Fenris protested, facing her.

Having anticipated the reaction, she placed a pacifying hand on his forearm, "He's young, and probably scared. I can hardly fault him for hating me after what I had to do to his brethren," Her jaw tightened, "even _if_ he may well be dead, or an abomination, had I not walked into his life when I did."

Zevran said with a chuckle, "My dear, it sounds like your life has been no less complicated than that of my Warden. It is a thankless job, looking out for the masses, no? You lovely ladies would get along, I believe."

Hawke stifled a laugh and shrugged, "Well, what can I say? Trouble just has this way of finding us, I suppose."

"I think it's the other way around, actually." Both men muttered in unison.

She had long since given up trying to argue with that, and so she shot them both a look, but continued, "I don't care what you do. Try and pacify him, if you can. If that doesn't work, scare him, threaten him if you have to, but unless it comes down to your life or his, don't hurt him. If I could, I would go and try and explain myself, rather than terrify the poor boy, but sadly, circumstances are not in my favour."

"I will do my best, my dear." He handed her a small sheet of parchment, "This is the time and location of the meeting with my contact. I will meet up with you afterwards to hear your decision."

She read the note quickly, before giving it to Fenris, who had better knowledge of the area and layout of the city. She held out her hand to Zevran again and he took it in a conspiratorial shake, giving her a respectful nod before turning away and starting into the darkness.

She watched him depart, curiously, as Fenris retrieved their meager belongings across the courtyard.

"I hope you know what you're doing." He grumbled when he returned to a conversational distance.

"Fenris," she replied, stooping to withdraw her daggers from the two Crows she'd killed earlier in her rage, "what, in our history together, would suggest to you that I ever have _any_ idea what I'm doing?"

He chuckled warmly, giving her a fond smile, "That's a good question."

"Exactly. I have this way of jumping right into stupid things, and then somehow living through them. Maker only knows how I managed to make it this far."

"I do wonder what you would do without me."

"That's why I take you with me everywhere. You're a valued voice of reason when I consider doing something idiotic."

"But you rarely—if ever—listen to me." He responded, a puzzled crease in his brow as he leveled her with a stare.

"Well, if I did, we would never have gotten anywhere, now would we?" She countered, tossing him a wink, her mouth tugging into her signature grin.

"You are infuriating."

She smiled warmly at him, thinking that their little vacation to Orlais was not going to be much of a _vacation_ at all.

_Story of my life, apparently._

* * *

_Author's Note_

So, I'm not sure if you all noticed that the _Mark of the Assassin_ DLC is hinted at here. I'll be writing a separate fic to outline that particular adventure so those of you who haven't played it won't have to worry about skipping chapters of this fic.

I know suddenly expanding this into a story on optional DLC is a dick move to those wary about spoilers, especially after that ending, but I assure you, that is most certainly _not_ where I'd intended to go with this when I started the Orlais series. It just sorta... happened. I'm sorry. :(

I mean, obviously, there will be differences so it will be canon with my Hawke's story, as this does take place post-game, post-Viscount, post-Kirkwall. But the major plot of the DLC will be the same. So, if you aren't looking for spoilers, then I'd advise against reading it.

For those of you who have played the DLC, and/or don't mind spoilers, keep your eyes peeled for the story. I'm hoping to have it up soon. :)


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